Corpus Encambio
by Thirteen Ravens
Summary: What if Hermione Granger had chosen to use the Timeturner to go back to save Severus Snape's life on the night of the final battle, only to leave him in a coma, too injured to be able to wake up? What then...? ( SS/HP - Harry/Snape - Post TDH - Angst - Snarkage - Bodyswap )
1. An Auditory Response

**Corpus Encambio**

"_Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragement, and impossibilities: It is this, that in all things distinguishes the strong soul from the weak"  
__**Thomas Carlyle**_

_If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awake - Aye, what then?  
__**Samuel Taylor Coleridge**_

_**Chapter 1: An Auditory Response.**_

He had lain unconscious in the Hospital Wing for over a year now, his eyes closed, sallow face expressionless, his black hair stark against the white pillows.

A coma was the popular verdict, but another theory attached to that was he simply did not wish to wake up again. After all, his mission had been carried out, his service to both Dumbledore and to Voldemort was spent. There was no place for a wartime spy like Severus Snape among the living any more.

_Or was that just a convenient assumption?_

Hermione closed the book she was reading and glanced sideways at the bed she was seated next to. It was something she had done many times before, from many a hospital visit to the man. Her eyes moved across to fix intently on his face, the closed eyelids, unmoving, undreaming. The jagged bite scars where the snake had torn at the man's neck were long healed now, but still showed up whitish in the light.

She gave a small sigh as she watched the man's chest rise and fall in slow, never-changing breaths, his pale hands open limply by his sides, arms thin from muscle wastage. Professor Snape looked no different to yesterday, or to the day before. To last week, or month, six months...

The angry words of Albus Dumbledore's portrait almost twelve months ago stung her thoughts once more.

"I urge you to meddle no more with the past, Miss Granger," he had said, his eyes sharp as chipped ice. You must allow the man to die, he was loyal to Lily Potter to the last, and his soul craves to be with her again, of that I have no doubt. Keeping Severus Snape alive is merely prolonging his stay in limbo, you can see he has no wish to return to his body!"

Yet still she had stubbornly persisted - after all, coma patients could go for years before waking up, couldn't they? She had read up on all research, magical and Muggle both. But regardless, she had not spoken to Dumbledore's portrait since his angry outburst. Secretly Hermione held a little resentment for the way Snape had been manipulated and lied to by the old wizard.

But then hadn't he kept the truth from them all, in his clever machinations to bring Voldemort down? They had all been part of a necessary plan, Harry had had no choice, really, and as awful as his fate had been in the battle, Dumbledore had brought the best out of Severus Snape, as he had helped bring the best out of them all.

Hermione's hand trailed towards the secure robe pocket where she always kept the time turner now; she'd taken it back from the Headmaster's office in the midst of the battle.

She bit her lip. It'd taken her some time to realise what a rash, spur of the moment decision it had been for her to use it to go back and secretly administer potions and anti-venom to Snape after they had left him for dead. But it was done now, she was hardly going to go back yet again and undo it... Some days she wondered whether she should destroy the thing, like Harry had broken the Elder wand, but...

"I don't know what to think tonight, Professor," she confessed quietly to the man's immobile body. "Perhaps Dumbledore was right when he said I should have left you there. But then, I am a self-righteous Gryffindor at heart, aren't I? An insufferable Know-it-All...Of course I'll always want to interfere..." She trailed off, giving a wan half-smile.

"I know it's not up to me who lives or dies, indeed we lost so many good people, why not them too? But I just felt what happened to you in particular was...so..."

Hermione paused as her voice began to quaver, and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Forgive me Professor. Dumbledore was angry that I'd used the time turner, even Harry... - he reasons you would want to be reunited with your old friend after giving so many years up for her."

"But then, I believe differently. Sirius Black got a second chance at Dumbledore's whim. I don't wish to assume, but you're a very able, intelligent man, and, well... I don't think it's your time."

She wiped her eyes again and paused, peering intently at his face, pale, still as marble. "I also think, Sir, that you deserve a chance at happiness. I know from what Harry said that you loved Lily, but-"

The word stuck in her throat as she saw Snape's eyelids twitch, ever so slightly. Her pulse began to race; had she imagined it, or had that...?

"Lily," she repeated the word again, softly.

_There! Again!_

Her breath became shallow as a panicked surge of emotions rushed through her. _However slight it was, the man had responded to a word. Twice. _They had been tiny responses, mere eyelid flickers, but in comparison to the many months previous it was nothing short of a miracle.

It also, as she realised, provided a whole wealth of new opportunities and possibilities. It had been deduced by various mediwitches that a considerable amount of neurological damage and muscular damage had been wreaked on Snape's system by Nagini's venom, and it had not been possible to reverse most of it. If the man woke up tomorrow he would be suffering part paralysis, at minimum.

However, if his brain was proved to be functioning and responding to stimuli, there was one other possible method, very little recommended, complicated... foolhardy...that could be tried. But of course it required a considerable amount of energy from the spell-caster. As with all darker magics there was always some kind of risk involved.

Hermione Granger wasn't quite sure exchanging Snape's mind and spirit with her own mind and spirit would go down too well with the ex-Potion's Master at all... But she had been plagued with guilt, and not discovered any other way of relieving it. Additionally, being a woman who had faced more than the usual life challenges in her teenage years alone, certainly more than the average offspring of most Muggle dentists; she was certainly not going to baulk at giving it a try.

* * *

"There might be another way, but I still can't say I'm mad about the whole idea," replied Harry warily, peering at the form of his old Professor as if the man might just wake up in a second and spring up to throttle him. "Infact the whole idea _is mad. _Ron thinks you're bloody mental..."

"Oh never mind Ron, he would say that," waved off Hermione. "What we have here is definite _word recognition _Harry - what if he's just totally paralysed, in his body fully aware, but unable to move or do anything, forever trapped in paralysed consciousness?" She shuddered. "Do you really think the man deserves this kind of ending?"

Harry gave an awkward scowl. "Well...no...of course not! But..."

Hermione sat down on a chair and wrung her hands desperately, tears welling in her eyes. "But what, Harry? It's horrible, that's what! Maybe this is worse than death for him? I should have not gone back to save him... maybe I should go back and undo what I did...? Oh..._I just cannot bear thinking about this anymore...!_"

Harry lowered himself onto one knee in front of her and drew his tearful friend into a hug. While he held her his face took on a grim, yet determined expression.

"What's done is done now Hermione. If as you say there's a sign of life, then we'll take that as a sign the man's still in there somewhere, mentally at least... I don't think you should go back and mess around in the past anymore..." His mouth turned into a hard line as he frowned. "I also don't think you should be messing with soul magic...of any kind. I mean, I trust you and all that, but look what happened to Tom Riddle..."

"It's not the same kind of magic, Harry, and you know it," she replied tiredly.

Harry paused a while deeply pensive. Finally, he sighed resignedly. "I was thinking a lot last night, what if there was a body without a soul already, would that work maybe..?"

Harry trailed off and looked purposefully around to the far corner of the ward, where a curtain was always drawn across, and no sound ever came. Hermione's breath hitched. She pulled back to look her friend with wide, incredulous eyes.

"Adrian Pucey? _Harry, you don't seriously...?_"

Pucey was a Slytherin guy who'd been two years above them at Hogwarts, played chaser in Quidditch. He had had his soul sucked out by a Dementor in the final battle.

Hermione frowned. He was not technically a man now at all – at least in the legal, magical world's eyes... _a mere soulless shell, unwanted, doing nothing, never to do anything meaningful again..._

Harry shrugged. "Well, as I said I was thinking and this was the thought that's been playing on my mind. You know his parents were Death Eaters and were both killed in the fighting. I've heard the school are keeping his soulless body, because...well, I actually don't know. Maybe a legal loophole? I think his other family members went missing after the war, and of course as family always have the decision on what happens to people who get kissed in Azkaban...Hogwarts are keeping hold of him just incase anyone reappears and advises them what they want to happen."

Her eyes peered back down the ward to the drawn curtain.

"Of course Dumbledore would probably kill me if I did try anything...the whole idea is ethically unsound..." whispered Hermione.

"Well, yes. But ethical or not...the man's dead. Snape's still kind of alive, and he definitely might kill you if things go wrong here; have you considered that?" added Harry ominously.

Hermione bit her lip. "Well...he might, yes... But then again he might not...after all, he hardly looked willing to die when Nagini bit him..."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other each with a mixture of trepidation and doubt. _Would it be so very wrong to borrow a soulless body to help out a soul with an entirely useless one...?_


	2. Corpus Encambio

A week passed before the two met again in the Hospital Ward. Hermione had painstakingly researched and prepared all the spell's needs, the potions had been brewed, anointed, incantations practised and written out carefully.

It was late evening and the strong, undetectable sleeping potion slipped into Madame Pomfrey's herbal tea had done its trick. He and Hermione were unsupervised visitors in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the night.

Now all there was left to do was the spell.

Harry carefully levitated the sleeping Pucey into the vacant bed next to their old Professor's.

Hermione studied her notes closely. "The exchange involves lifting all memories, plus spirit and spark from their bodies; the spirits will appear as a tiny white ball of light, the memories, as you know are like silvery strands - but as there will be so many, a lifetime's worth, it will be like a silver cloud..."

Harry nodded nervously. This was easily the most mental thing Hermione had ever done. So much information was going to be floating about in the air..._so much could go wrong..._

Eventually, Hermione began. She started with Pucey first, as he had barely a rudimentary spark of life left, keeping his body alive it was not too difficult. This spark floated up above him, glowing faintly, like a firefly.

After requesting Harry to keep Pucey's spark hovering in mid air, Hermione turned her attention to Snape. Licking her lips nervously, she flipped over a page and begin to utter a string of incantations. A glow of silvery strands began to stream from the man's mouth and eyes, floating above him in a gathering cloud. The witch frowned in concentration, and beads of sweat began to appear on her brow. After a short while, the shimmering cloud had grown thick, and was almost the size of the bed it was hovering above.

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he shivered...a lifetime of memories, some good, _so many bad..._

Finally, when it seemed almost as if Hermione's concentration, or voice, would be lost, the strands came to an end.

"_Merlin's beard..._" breathed Harry, gazing in awe at the snitch-sized ball of silver rising from Snape's mouth. His was infinitely brighter and stronger than Pucey's, throwing out light into the far corners of the room like a small star.

A year immobile, and _to think his lifeforce was still that strong..._

"Harry, I want you to hold Pucey's spark above Snape's body now. Hold it there until I have finished putting Snape's memories into Pucey," croaked Hermione, her voice hoarse from the lengthy incantations. Harry nodded.

With a tap of his wand Harry cast petrificus totalus on Pucey, before gingerly manoeuvring his life-spark until it hovered just above Snape's body.

Hermione began transferring Snape's spirit and memories down into Pucey. The spirit went in fairly quickly, but the memories seemed to take longer going in than they did coming out, almost as if they were resisting her... Harry couldn't help noticing how increasingly ashen, and hesitant his friend was becoming. Finally, eight strands became four, four two, two one... Just before the last memory was due to be fed in, however, the tail end seemed to lash back in the air like a silver whip. Hermione gave a weak cry and collapsed to the floor. Without thinking, Harry leapt forward to help.

"No Harry – hold the..." mouthed Hermione, eyes wide. But it was too late.

Harry turned to see Pucey's ball of light rise quickly up to the ceiling, then dissipate into thin air. The very last tiny life-spark of the young Slytherin that once was, appeared to have gone._ Forever._

Harry felt his heart thud in horror. Hermione tugged desperately at his jumper, then pointed a trembling hand urgently toward Pucey then, where Snape's last memory was still lashing wildly about in mid air.

"Take it...we can put it...back later," she croaked. Harry did as she suggested, catching the tip of it with his outstretched wand, and with no little trepidation touching the wand tip to his forehead.

As Harry turned back to see Hermione at the foot of Snape's bed, wand again aloft, the memory struck his senses like the back hooves of a Hippogriff. In a moment he visualised a haggard, burly figure towering over him, reeking overpoweringly of alcohol, cigarettes, and the pub.

The man sneered as he uncoiled a worn, black leather belt from around his right hand.

* * *

He awoke.

The first thing Snape did was feel his throat; the hot sticky blood he had tried desperately to stem the flow of was gone. His robes were unmarked, his hands, too were quite clean. He got up from where he lay and peered around him with widening eyes.

It was a vast, white space, with a high, arched roof, not unlike King's Cross.

"Where am I?" He whispered to himself.

"You have all the time you wish to guess, Sev," said a gentle voice behind him.

His heart skipped a beat. He span around.

"_Lily?_" he breathed in true wonderment.

She still looked as he remembered her at school, with her lovely hair and gentle green eyes.

_Oh, how he'd missed her, regretted..._

"I am so very, very sorry," he whispered.

In a moment Lily was hugging him. "I know you are Sev. I have never been far from you, you did know that didn't you?"

Snape's breath hitched in his throat as the enormity of what she had said struck him. He shook his head slowly. "Well no...I didn't. I didn't think you would ever want anything to do with me...again."

Lily pulled back a little and Snape at once saw tears in her eyes. In a moment he realised he was crying too. Tentatively he raised a hand and brushed a tear from her cheek.

They held each other for many minutes, until another voice spoke.

"Thank you for watching over my son, Snape," it said.

Snape stiffened as he recognised the tone. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked round at the speaker, still holding Lily tightly by the hand.

"Potter," he breathed, but somehow the strong hatred for the man he'd always burdened himself with failed to materialise.

James Potter sighed, and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, before putting them back on again. "Merlin's balls...I was a bit of an arse to you at school, I know, but you know, my son didn't turn out so bad, did he?"

"No," replied Snape softly. "No he did not."

James gave a rueful half-smile. "You do know where you are though, don't you?"

Snape raised a wry eyebrow, "I'm assuming anywhere a good soul such as Lily is would be heaven, would it not?"

James paused, raking a hand awkwardly through his hair. "Well...no, not exactly. We're just visiting, you see..."

Snape frowned, feeling his throat go a little dry. "So...this is what exactly? Limbo?"

"That might be one such word for it...yes," shrugged the other wizard.

Snape stared. "So Nagini's bite wasn't fatal? I'm not dead?"

"It should have been fatal, by Merlin's, it was fatal. But then someone decided otherwise, it seems."

"But who..._who would even_...?" he trailed off faintly. His mind reeled. Next to him, Lily gave his hand a squeeze.

"Our son's friend appears to be a very intelligent witch," Lily replied softly.

_"Granger?"_

Snape unlaced his hand from Lily's and paced up and down in restless anguish, eyes still reddened from his earlier tears.

_Why did his life...and death... always have to revolve around Gryffindors? _Granger...Miss Granger, the mere young chit of a witch playing with fate, _with HIS fate, now. _Dumbledore deemed it fine for the young trio to save Black's life with the Time Turner, _but that was different, a Gryffindor's life, of course._

Snape was sure no Gryffindor in the history of Hogwarts had ever bothered to use a Time-Turner to save a Slytherin's life. Granger obviously wanted something from him, some information... His expression darkened; hadn't he revealed too much of himself to those kids in his memories already? _Wasn't that enough for them?_

After the tenth line of pacing a concerned Lily grasped Snape's hand in both hers and pulled him to a stop.

"Severus...stop this."

His mouth twisted in pain. "Leave me be!"

"No, Sev, I can't bear to see you-"

"I can't bear it either...!" He blurted out, his black eyes flashing. "I have just found you again, after all these years to have a little bit of peace; but now that damned idiot Granger has wrecked-"

"_She has not!_" Cut in Lily sharply, instantly silencing him. Angry green eyes met wounded black. "She has not, Sev," she repeated more softly. "You are still a young wizard, but unlike myself, James, Remus, even Sirius, you knew very little joy in your life. This young witch sees this-"

"_Oh does she?_" He spat. "Who does that bloody girl think she is? How dare she meddle!" He hissed furiously.

"Oh she can meddle if she so wishes!" returned Lily defiantly. "Honestly Sev, why do you always curse yourself in the foot? This young witch has risked her life and possibly her reputation to give you a choice to do something else with the rest of your life, a choice few others ever get, and you _hate _her for it?"

Snape faltered, his expression wavering between anger and suffering. Lily's expression softened and she sighed, pulling the man into another hug.

Snape dropped his head on her shoulder and let out an exhausted sigh. "Lily..." he whispered weakly. "If I leave, I'll lose you. _Again..._"

It was Lily's turn to sigh. "Look at me, Sev. Please."

After a reluctant moment, her friend raised his head. Lily gently took his face in her hands and looked deep into his eyes.

"You will not lose me, Sev. I am here, I am always here, and when you do die, _when it is finally time for you to die, _I will wait for you here to take you onwards."

Snape looked down a moment, tears once again threatening to fall. "Will you be around then? Always?"

"Always Sev. _I promise._"


	3. Conflict

Once the terrible vision had played through, Harry regained his senses and found himself hunched on the floor of the hospital ward. It had been so vivid that the smell of stale beer and smoke seemed to linger in his nostrils; the white hot sting of the leather belt, the horrible cracking noise it made as it hit flesh made him shudder again. There was even a dull ache at the back of his skull from being dragged backwards up the stairs.

_So this was why the wizarding world preferred to use pensieves to view other's memories._

The worst of it was that he knew Snape had been beaten for no reason other than his father was raging drunk and had lost a bet, and young Snape had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn't have been more than six or seven years old at the time.

He fought back the nausea and stood, looking around anxiously for Hermione, finding her nowhere in sight. He had tried his best to ignore the dark circles under her eyes these past months, the things Ron had been saying over a Firewhiskey, her insomnia, her endless research. Trying to talk Hermione out of research was futile. They both knew that she would not rest unless she found some kind of a solution and acted on it, something to lessen her guilt on Snape's condition.

"Hermione?" Getting no answer he next decided to move over to the bed where the body of Snape lay and feel for a pulse at his neck.

To his great surprise, he found one. He also found the body of Hermione laying next to him, still breathing, seemingly peacefully asleep. Her wand had fallen from her outstretched hand onto the bed.

Before he could make more sense of the situation, a sound behind him made Harry jump. He swung round in time to see Pucey's head turn away. _So he was alive...!_As Harry moved closer he noted a sheen of feverish sweat had appeared on the man's forehead.

Despite his feeling of triumph for Hermione's success, Harry still found himself gripping the handle of his wand that little bit harder. _After all, this was Snape...if the spell had worked as it should, that is. And if anything the man was going to be a little disorientated, never mind angry..._

The feverish man began to murmur, beads of sweat now coming at his temples. One of his hands flexed, then the other.

The murmuring suddenly stopped. Then-

"My Lord. Let me... No. I..." Snape took in a sharp breath, muscles all over his body suddenly tensed and quivering. "Please, _My Lord..._"

It was odd hearing Snape's words uttered with Pucey's voice. Harry had grown so accustomed to Polyjuice Potion altering the appearance of a person, but not how they sounded. But of course this was a drastically different thing to Polyjuice; this was in effect a body swap. Thanks to Hermione, his old Potions' Professor now had the body _and _voice of a twenty year old_; it wasn't going to wear off._

Feeling a surge of guilt and unease, Harry grabbed a flannel from the sink area, wet it and tentatively wiped the young man's sodden brow and face. As he did so his expression stilled and his body relaxed.

"It's okay, Sir," murmured Harry. "Voldemort's dead. Long dead. Just relax."

Snape let out a quiet sigh. "Thank you, Lily," he murmured.

Harry snatched his hand away in shock.

* * *

Lily's gentle touch lingered for some time before he realised it was gone, and he was alone again in a different place. A darker place.

He peered around, straining to make out anything around him. When he could not, his breath quickened. Was he back in the Shrieking Shack, or...

An oval, pallid shape loomed into view, a face, ghostly white. Mocking.

"I have thought long and hard, Severus...do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"

"My Lord..." he began, a familiar terror mounting. _It was happening all over again!_

"It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort, his merciless red eyes burning right down into his soul. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

"Let me...No. I... Please, _My Lord..._""

Suddenly he became aware of a soothing touch, and a gentle voice speaking to him.

Voldemort's face disappeared, and darkness returned. Snape realised it had just been a flashback, a dream...and his old friend had helped chase it away. Because she had promised him; always.

"Thank-you, Lily," he murmured.

* * *

"It was an insane thing to do Miss Granger, absolutely insane! You could have lost concentration and split his soul, or lost your own – from what I can see you very nearly did!"

Madame Pomfrey stood before them both the following morning, her face white with rage.

"But the fact is..._I didn't!_" Hermione countered stubbornly, her face still ashen, yet defiant. "I knew the risks but I wanted to try anyway! Look at him - he's sleeping now, and dreaming! He was still in there! Wasn't it worth it?"

"Yes, but in another body! _In one of his student's bodies! _This kind of magic is frowned upon by the Ministry Miss Granger, Goodness, it is frowned upon by the Mediwitch profession too!"

"I can't see why!" retorted Harry, unable to mind himself. "Pucey was long gone, what use is his body to him now? Muggles donate organs for surgery, why can't wizards?"

"It is not wholly the deed that's the problem, Mr Potter," returned Pomfrey sharply, "it is also a matter of consent! Professor Snape's body is now without spirit or spark to sustain it and now cannot breathe without magical assistance, and his soul was moved without consent. As for Mr Pucey's body, well that belongs to his family... What you have both done here is a criminal offence!"

"Well, find Pucey's family and ask them then," challenged Harry. "Find them and see if they'll accept the empty shell of a Deatheaters' son! As for Snape, well everyone seems perfectly happy just to leave him stuck in here like this. After a whole year you'd think someone would have done something if they cared, they all clearly don't give a damn!"

Pomfrey's face was red and she spluttered at his words. "That is not the point, Mister Potter!"

"Then what is, may I ask?" Cut in Hermione, eyes shining defiantly. "If Adrian Pucey's family ever wish to reclaim his empty body from...from a man who fell a hero, a soul trapped in a damaged body who deserved a second chance, then...then fine. I'll personally answer to it, I'm responsible. I'll stand trial if I have to. Madame Pomfrey, you knew him for many years, you saw how he helped Dumbledore over and again! I know it was wrong to act without consent... but don't tell me you don't feel Professor Snape deserves another chance?"

Madame Pomfrey faltered and pursed her lips, before looking away. An awkward silence hovered for a few moments before she spoke again.

"Miss Granger, Mister Potter..." she sighed. "It's not so much about what I think, it is more about the rules, the world outside-"

Harry scoffed. "_To hell with the World outside_; from my experience it's the people you know and trust who matter more. This is a matter for the people of Hogwarts, no one else, and I don't know about you, but from what I've heard people in Hogwarts have grown to have a hell of a lot of respect for Snape now. Including me. _I had no idea_..."

He trailed off as he saw a tear trickle down Madame Pomfrey's cheek.

"Oh don't think I don't know how he helped," she sighed, dabbing at her eyes. "He took care of his Slytherins, but deep down he was always willing to help any house's students, but often secretly, not causing a fuss. Many times I would find potions and a note slipped into my desk in the mornings. He would visit late at night to cast a quick eye on the patients, keeping an eye out for dark curses, making sure all was well. Don't think I don't care for his condition now, _because I do!_"

"Then help us look after him now, don't fight us," begged Hermione. "Please Madame Pomfrey, once he wakes up he'll be...well, we could really do with all the help we can get."

The school's Matron stood silently for more than a minute, her face caught in expression of grave worry. She tutted, she sighed, she huffed. Then finally-

"I pride myself in doing what is best for all my patients, and though I am bound to the code of my profession and I shall be risking my job by allowing such a thing to happen in my charge, my heart..." she trailed off.

"Is with Hogwarts?" Offered Hermione hopefully.

Madame Pomfrey gave her the smallest of smiles. "Yes. On this occasion, it is with Hogwarts."

After she said this Harry looked straight to Hermione to notice her eyes were shining brightly in a way they had not since the battle a year ago. Despite the fear and uneasiness that dogged him about what Snape's reaction would be, when he came to, for the moment he was happy his old friend had got what she had so long wanted.


	4. Awakening

Severus Snape was sitting in the Headmaster's office reading a copy of the Daily Prophet when a curious sound came from the cupboard that housed the pensieve. A sound like dry leaves across a stone floor . In a moment Snape went rigid with fear. He leapt up and tried the door, but it was locked, the window likewise. His wand...was missing..._where was his wand?_

"Ah...Severus, that sound seems terribly familiar, do you not think so?" mused Dumbledore's portrait.

Snape did think so indeed, with emphasis on the terribly. Infact, the instant he found himself at the Headmaster's desk reading the Prophet he knew it was that exact same dream again. The biggest problem he had with this dream was that he knew how painfully it ended.

Snape's breaths were becoming increasingly shallow and panicky, "I need to get out of this place now, if she finds me, she will kill me!"

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses, observing the scene with a cool, detached expression. "But my boy, death is inevitable, why fight it? A heroic death is immortalised in history, you will be considered brave by friend and foe, respected. There is no doubt at all you will be posthumously awarded your long wished-for Order of Merlin."

"What would I want with a posthumous award, Dumbledore?" Spat Snape. "What happens if I want to _live_?"

The old Headmaster did not reply to this. The rustling was becoming louder, more insistent, and the doors of the pensieve cupboard were beginning to creak at the hinges, as if something large and powerful was forcing its whole weight against them. Snape wrenched at the door knob with all his might."

"Dumbledore; unlock this door!"

"This is a new one on me, I must say," remarked Dumbledore. "Do you no longer wish to be with Lily? It is extraordinarily peaceful in heaven, you know, plenty of time for everything you wish to do. It's nothing like the endless war and strife there is down here..."

Snape's energy sapped and he slumped down against the door, his mouth twisting in age-old pain.

"No," he gasped. "No I don't. _Not yet_. Stop torturing me, damn you...!"

"I hardly think I'm the one torturing you, Severus," commented the old Headmaster mildly. "As I recall a particularly witty Muggle writing some time in the last Century, 'A man who is Master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure.' I believe I have his books about this room somewhere, alas, though, I never got to see his last play..."

There was an almighty crash as the cupboard doors snapped off their hinges and a huge, coiled snake fell down on top of them. As Nagini began to uncoil and sense him out with her flickering tongue, advancing, her scales rustling and scratching over the stones...

Nagini's head began to rear up...Snape gave a howl of horror and pummelled furiously on the door.

_"DUMBLEDORE!"_

A hand firmly gripped hold of his own, and instantly the room, and snake vanished leaving only greyness and the sound of his hammering heart.

"_Professor! _It's okay Professor, it's a dream, it's only a dream, you are safe, don't worry."

A voice. This had happened before. He swore it had been Lily before but this time he could tell it was someone else.

He became aware of being very hot, sweating, someone was mopping his forehead gently and still holding his hand. He gripped it back for a moment before a sense of doubt gripped him.

_A woman's voice; it was familiar, very familiar..._

"You are in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, Severus," came another, also familiar, female voice. "I have a calming draught here for you, I feel it will help."

Suddenly it clicked into place. Madame Pomfrey. _Granger._

He opened his eyes to find the younger witch gazing worriedly at him. He stared at her a long moment before he realised she was still gripping hold of his hand. He pulled himself away and grimaced.

"Miss Granger...how very..." he managed to croak before he stopped dead.

_His voice sounded...odd..._

Unease gripped him. "What the hell's up with my voice?"

"I...I..." The girl paled, her mouth open like a goldfish.

"You haven't spoken in some time, Severus, your voice will be a little rusty," answered Pomfrey, though noticeably uneasily.

Snape attempted to sit up, but found it a harder task than he imagined. His muscles shook and ached in protest, they seemed so weak and wasted!

He next fixed his gaze on the Matron. "My muscles are near atrophy; how long have I been lying here?"

Madame Pomfrey stepped forward with a vial in her hand, "Severus, before we go any further with the questions I would recommend you swallow a calming draught."

"Make that one for each of us, I think we'll all be bloody needing some," quipped a young man's voice dryly from further back in the room.

Snape's head snapped round in surprise.

"Potter? You-you're alive?" His mind reeled in astonishment, and then dread took over. "Is the Dark Lord...?"

Harry walked over to stand in front of a half-drawn bed curtain, his hands in pockets. He let out a great sigh, as if he'd told this one a million times before. "Yes, he's dead. For definite this time. I died, too, but thanks to his using my blood I didn't completely cross over. I left his Horcrux there before returning, though."

Snape gave a slow, amazed nod. "And...Nagini?"

Harry gave a lop-sided smile. "Neville lopped her head off with the Sword of Gryffindor. It was pretty cool."

Relief washed over him. The Dark Lord was finally vanquished, and his own 'death' had been avenged by...Longbottom of all people?

_Regardless of life's ironies; he was free_...

Pomfrey pushed the vial toward him. "A calming draught, Severus," she urged, more sternly.

Snape rolled his eyes and snatched the vial. "Oh, if you insist Poppy..."

As he paused to peer at and sniff the contents of the vial (a matter of ingrained habit, you never know who might be out to poison you) Snape caught sight of his hand and stared. It was a wide, strong, young hand with callouses on the palms. Firstly, with exception of the times he had to impersonate people under Polyjuice, Severus Snape had never had wide hands in his life, never mind calloused ones. If he wasn't much mistaken they looked more like some rugged sportman's...

He looked up at Pomfrey with narrowing eyes. She looked a little pale, but her mouth pressed into a stern line.

"Yes, there is an explanation waiting; just as soon as you take that potion."

"I am more than capable of judging whether I require a calming draught, or have you entirely forgotten the day job I carried out for a decade and a half?" returned Snape with an icy stare.

"But Sir-" began Hermione.

"Silence Granger! I will not be told what to do!"

"Fair enough, go without then!" cut in Potter above them all. "You want the quickest answer to your questions...?"

The room watched in surprise as the young wizard span round and grabbed hold of the edge of the bedcurtain enclosing the bed next to his.

"Harry, no!"

Hermione reached for him, but it was too late, in one move Harry had swooshed the curtain back to reveal another occupied bed.

Everyone froze. Snape stared at the inert body on the bed a long moment, and all the room's eyes were on him when comprehension dawned.

The calming drought slipped from his quivering fingers, Hermione only just managed to levitate it before it spilled on the sheets.


	5. Truth and Anger

Hermione, Harry and Madame Pomfrey tensed as the look of utter shock and incredulity on Snape's face began to alter into one of increasing suspicion. By the time he'd scanned over the rest of his unknown body and dragged his hand through his unfamiliarly short, bristly hair his cheeks were flushed scarlet with anger.

He leaned forwards and grabbed Hermione's arm, his icy blue eyes piercing deeply into the witch's.

"Whose...body...is this?"

Hermione froze at the man's threatening growl, all her earlier defiance and strength inexplicably cowed. Was there a trace of guilt in her expression, fear?

"Professor, I assure you, I didn't..."

Snape gripped harder and pulled her forwards with all the strength he could muster, closer to his livid face. "Cut the niceties Granger; TELL ME!"

Behind her, Harry clasped the wand in his pocket that little bit tighter, but remained where he was. As protective as he was of his friend, she just had to face this head on.

Madame Pomfrey was likewise keeping her distance; it was quite clear from her cross-armed posture that she still felt affronted by Snape's refusal to take a calming drought...but Harry reckoned there was a slight air of triumph about her, too. After all, Harry reasoned, they'd drugged the poor woman in her own office and then undermined her by performing spells on her patients...despite her recent vow of support she would still be angry - and rightfully so!

_And who better than Severus Snape to let fly with punishment?_

Hermione took a breath and steeled herself from trembling. "It was A-Adrian Pucey's, Professor. His soul...he was kissed by a Dementor...in the battle..."

"Adrian Pucey," echoed Snape. He slumped back and peered across at his body lying in the neighbouring bed, though his eyes did not seem to focus. For a moment he seemed entirely lost; the side of his mouth curling as if fighting for composure.

"So," he remarked finally, his voice deadly. "_So_. My soul is now in the body of one of my Slytherins? Your bright idea, I assume, Granger?"

She flinched as his accusatory stare locked onto her, opening her mouth as if to say something but Snape cut her off with a raised hand. He had an unpleasant gleam in his eye.

"No..._wait_, this smacks of Potter's thinking, too. Let me guess; Granger's exceptional talent for complex spellcasting combined with one of Potter's trademark spur of the moment... _suggestions_?" He hissed the last word through bared teeth, narrowing his gaze at them both. "_Tell me I'm wrong_."

"It was my suggestion to use Pucey's body, Sir," confessed Harry, holding Snape's stare with an air of defiance. "But why not? Your's is paralysed - permanently so Pomfrey says, Pucey's parents are dead Death Eaters and the rest of his family ran off like cowards and never bothered to claim him! His body's been laying in this Ward as long as you have!"

Fury flashed in the Slytherin's eyes. "Be that as it may, Potter," he spat, "you DO NOT have the right to take and use other's bodies without consent! Furthermore," he continued baring his teeth, "all laws and risks of questionable magic aside; did you honestly believe that I would not mind being switched into the body of one of my former students?"

Hermione looked stricken."I'm so sorry Professor, I meant well – I really-"

"_Did you, Granger?" _Hissed Snape, leaning forwards again menacingly. "Did you mean well subconsciously, too? Perhaps you secretly meant this to be some kind of sick revenge? A nice permanent little reminder of how I failed to save yet another soul from an untimely death?"

"N-no, no you're twisting it, you've got it all wrong, you know I would never do that!" cried Hermione in horror.

Snape let out an almost deranged laugh. "Am I twisting it Granger, or am I uncovering the truth? How can I tell anymore? Why should I trust you, or indeed ANYBODY ever again?"

"Because that's life, that's what people have to do, or we can't live!" blurted Harry, red-faced as Hermione began to sob. "You trusted Dumbledore like I did, he kept so much from me, manipulated me, too, and I still looked up to him. He knew there was chance I would live, yet he let you die... You would have died, but Hermione thought she could give you another chance. If you want to blame someone for the body you're in, then blame me – it was my suggestion! But I just didn't...think..."

Snape looked away from them all, breathing quite hard; above all the panic and paranoia running away with his senses he instinctively knew Potter's words were truthful. After years of focusing on Lily's son and protecting him from harm, if there was anyone Snape could read like a book it was him.

Adrian Pucey had been an intimidating member of the Slytherin Quidditch team with both height and bearing, but even in a weakened state Snape had managed to appear perfectly menacing. Though Harry reckoned the man's sheer intensity of soul would probably make any body it inhabited seem so.

Snape turned on the Matron next, his fingers curling around the edge of the bed as he leaned towards her.

"And what, pray, was your hand in this little rescue mission, Poppy?"

Madame Pomfrey suddenly looked rather angry and offended. "_My hand_, Severus? Well...If you discount the entire year's worth of duty and care I gave to a chronically injured coma patient brought back from the brink by a reckless student, why, none at all... with exception of the hand bearing the Calming Draught you just refused!"

The colour drained from Snape's face. "_A_ _YEAR_?"

"Yes, a year, _an entire glorious year_," replied the mediwitch hotly. "A Twelvemonth of healing potions, recurring infections, fevers, spells, and charms...which were to be expected. But then there was all the fuss and bother, newspaper reporters, Ministry officials and high-ups, more fuss and bother, and disrespectful people creeping about to slip something into my drink...!" Pomfrey shot a particularly dark look at Harry, who immediately averted his glance. "Oh it's been entirely exhausting, but I do what I must to keep this place clean and orderly, and my patients as well as they can be! Through gratitude and ingratitude alike, don't you worry, I'll still be here doing my job!"

Snape seemed a little cowed. He sat pensively for a while before finally raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, perhaps I should have taken your Calming Draught, Poppy," he muttered. "However I believe Miss Granger would probably benefit far more from one now..."

Hermione did indeed look quite unwell; she sat crumpled on the floor, head in her hands.

"I'm sorry sir, I am," she groaned. "Dumbledore was against the whole thing and warned me, even Harry was against it, saying you'd have wanted to be with his Mother.." At her mention of Lily, Snape winced, angrily crossed his arms, and looked away, his face flushing red. _Of course, Potter still had his memories...how had he forgotten?_

Hermione rose to her knees, clutching the side of the bed. "No, please Professor...do please listen, please let me explain!"

When Snape refused to turn, Hermione slumped to the floor again. Madame Pomfrey fetched the young, exhausted witch a chair and ushered her to sit on it, which she did, but her eyes did not leave Snape's face. After a minute of her looking earnestly at him, Snape finally gave a curt nod to signify he was listening, though he could not look at her; _suddenly he_ _could not bear to look at any of them._

Hermione took a steadying breath. "Right after the battle, after Harry had told me what had happened, I returned to the Shrieking Shack in the desperate hope you still had a spark of life, but you hadn't. I couldn't bear it – how we just left you there. I thought I could use the Time-turner, so I ran to Dumbledore's portrait to tell him what I was going to do, but he was furious. I decided to try anyway – I went back in time to administer the antidote, and gave you a series of blood replenishing potions, but of course you had suffered serious blood loss by the time it was possible to treat you, and then there was lasting nerve damage and paralysis from the venom." Hermione let out a weary sigh, wringing her hands a little in misery. "You ended up here in the Hospital Wing. It was horrible afterwards because even after Madame Pomfrey healed your wounds you never woke, never moved, never had nightmares, never ever did anything, just...breathed."

The room was utterly silent, it seemed everyone had been listening intently to her, including her old Professor, who had turned his head slightly.

"_I did not dream," said Snape quietly__, almost to himself__. "My last memory is of Potter looking at me. I went straight from there to a white nothingness of limbo; I imagine that was during the spell when my spirit was out of my body. I began to dream again afterwards. This leaves an entire year of unconsciousness I cannot remember a single second of..."_

"Merlin," breathed Harry in astonishment. It sounded like Snape had visited the same eerie white place he had! It made sense to call it limbo. _Were there any more similar life experiences he'd have to share with this man?_

_Perhaps he had met Dumbledore there also?_

"I was determined to find a way of reversing the damage," continued Hermione. "I researched for months on end, dipping into less and less mainstream magic, becoming less and less fussy how dark my reading material was becoming, thinking there may be an obscure cure...somewhere. Then one day I discovered an ancient soul-magic book with the Corpus encambio spell in it..." Hermione faltered and her eyes began to well with tears again. "I was so excited about the possibilities, I brushed aside the fact that the spell Voldemort used to create his Horcruxes was at the back of the same text!"

Finally spent, she lowered her head into her arms and let out a wracking sob. Harry's expression softened; he crossed the room and placed a hand supportively on his friend's shoulder.

Snape had turned his head, and was watching them both. After a short time he let out an awkward huff of resignation."Stop torturing yourself over the uglier details, Granger; it is done, and that is that."

When Hermione looked up in surprise, Snape allowed a wry curl of his lip. "Considering you and your cohorts' flagrant disregard for school rules and regulations time and again I'd be quite the fool to assume any of this would be in any way legally adherent..."

"Yes...well...indeed!" Spluttered Pomfrey bitterly from the sidelines. "That is the unavoidable issue as far as I'm concerned; if the Ministry hears a word of this I shall surely lose my job!"

There was another patch of awkward silence. Harry sighed and plonked himself down on the edge of a nearby bed, Hermione continued to snuffle and Severus Snape, in the youthful yet weakened body of his former student had his eyes narrowed and appeared very deep in thought.

Some more minutes had ticked by before it was clear to the Mediwitch that Snape's relative docility was largely due to exhaustion. She abruptly called an end to the "visit" and the two young Gryffindors left, casting nervous glances back at their Professor all the way.

Snape, of course, had many questions more still to ask, but...for once in his life he gave in to weariness; questions could wait one more night, especially considering he'd lain immobile _an entire year._

And so had Pucey.

He let out a sigh and rubbed his throbbing temples with an unfamiliarly large hand, paused again to glance at it in the dimmed light of the ward. Thick, young, strong fingers like he'd never had, the fingernails squat and square - the little nail on the right hand missing entirely - the middle finger on that hand looked a little crooked, like it'd been broken at one point in the past. It probably had; Quidditch was a brutal sport leading to plenty of injuries, a bit like Muggle rugby... which his father's brother had played on Sunday afternoons, before disappearing down the pub with his father for a "_swift 'alf o' one._" Which usually turned into three or four, or more, then a "_swift clout_" for whoever got in his drunken way afterward...

He gave a small quirk of his lips..._dear Father. Poor mother, also, _whom he did not physically resemble anymore...

For good and for bad. His mother he had loved, but in a tortured sorrowful way; he could never understand why she didn't leave his father, why she chose to stay with a man she rowed with every night; an angry, embittered man who took a belt to a child.

Severus Snape had inherited his father's temper, up 'til now had made liberal use of it, but now... his brush with death had changed him somehow. He wasn't sure in what way, exactly, but...

He stared intently at another vial of calming draught that Pomfrey had stealthily left him on the bedside table before retreating to her desk for an hour or two of paperwork. There was also a greenish milkshake or soup-like concoction in a glass that he was supposed to be drinking also. It did not look remotely appetizing, though he knew it would be highly unwise to even attempt eating solids yet.

Scowling slightly, he picked up the glass with both hands and drank a little, his arm muscles pulling from lack of use, his stomach immediately reacting to the food with a coil of aches. His scowl deepened as he took in the reality of being within a new yet weakened body. Of course, it was infinitely better than a critically paralysed one, but in his lifetime he'd never had such a physical setback such as this.

_When Pomfrey had told him he could need up to two month's rehabilitation to get back to some kind of everyday fitness, she wasn't exaggerating._

Two months of Hospital Wing food and Potter and Granger's visits then? _Gods forbid._


	6. Vulnerability

Severus Snape stood in a pool of sunlight by the largest window in the hospital ward, looking down towards the memorable old tree down by the shores of the lake, the last of its Spring leaves still newly emerging. Since gaining strength enough to walk about the ward he'd spent some time each day standing here, deep in thought.

He had been very angry, confused, elated, and exhausted by turns these past few weeks since awaking from the coma. He had slept an awful lot. Some days seemed almost dreamlike, some dreams returned to haunt him, some nightmares repeatedly. Other irritations included stomach trouble, back ache, joint aches, muscle aches and cramps; he'd lost count of the times he'd awoken in the night from one of his wasted limbs going into spasm, but be-damned if he was going to take any more potions.

Then there was the emotional side to things; days when the youthful fire and will of his body did nothing but frustrate and confuse him, a body he had been unceremoniously thrown into by a former student.

He wasn't entirely sure which fact, or facts outraged him the most about the whole debacle. But then again…to say he was 'outraged' wasn't quite accurate.

_Raged-out, _perhaps? It was true he was exhausted after so many years being driven by grief and anger, consumed and eaten away inside by his desire for revenge….for forgiveness, if not for himself, then from Lily...who had indeed forgiven him, and incredibly, had always been there through all his years of struggle to protect her son.

And she had wanted him to have a second chance.

_Was this all her doing? _He snorted quietly to himself..._of course it wasn't; _the dead did not have such powers. The will to return had all been his own doing, his own defiance, his own will to live.

The will to defy the merciless Dark Lord by living on past Nagini's death-strike, the will to defy Dumbledore's assumptions and indeed that of his Gryffindor protégé…though by contrast to Dumbledore, Potter had at least amended his viewpoint enough to help Granger free his old professor from a body beyond repair…

That the boy helped with this... Snape didn't know what to make of it. _If he were Potter he would have..._

Anyway, that did not seem to matter, now. Because now he was miraculously alive, in a body once a belonging to a young Slytherin who had not long been out of school, showing talent at Quidditch and Transfiguration above all; Adrian Pucey had had his whole life before him.

Snape felt his stomach turn again. _By Salazar, the boy should never have been…_

Those last few months before the battle of Hogwarts had been completely insane, frantic, he'd lost track of things going on directly outside his periphery of helping Potter and fooling the Dark Lord. Days, weeks had merged into each other. Once he'd been driven out of Hogwarts the days had sped by faster still, his life a convoluted, spinning, web of lies...'til that moment in the Shrieking Shack when the Dark Lord decided he needed his wand and time had wrenched itself back to an agonising crawl...

What the hell had happened to Adrian Pucey in the run up to the battle? His parents had been recent recruits of the Dark Lord, his mother working for a department in the Ministry proving a very useful spy. Before that, the Puceys had managed to keep a low profile, but with the death of Dumbledore they no doubt felt fearful, ushered in amongst new wave of recruits to take the Dark Mark.

Snape frowned. Pucey had often been overlooked by him as he had been a fairly able student with solid grades, never complained, rarely drew attention to himself or got detentions; as consequence he had rarely if ever needed to speak to him, barely knew him in fact. Now he was gone.

As a student Snape had always felt resentful that the Professors did not give him the time he felt he needed, now of course Snape had a thorough understanding just how difficult it was to reach and have the time for every kid, to be there when they made serious, life-changing decisions...

Yet, despite his parents' fate, Pucey had not been branded with the Dark Mark; there was no sign of the tattoo on either arm, nothing but bare skin and the odd dark mole. This was something that had been puzzling him for some time.

"Poppy... I have a question."

The Matron glanced up from her desk. "Before I answer it, have you had your lunch yet?"

Snape huffed quietly. "A little. My stomach is iffy...though I will try more shortly."

"Good," she responded with a slight nod. "Little and often is the way to go."

He continued to stand and stare intently at Madame Pomfrey until she put down her journal, sighed and stood up. As she moved towards him he pulled his sleeves up and showed her the inside of both his arms, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Ah," she said gravely. "Others have told me that Mr Pucey did not contact his parents after he had heard they had both taken the mark, which happened shortly after you fled Hogwarts, I believe. Eyewitness accounts from the battle suggest the poor lad was first seen in the entrance hall with a group of Hufflepuffs, helping them fight off the Death Eaters... A Hufflepuff student came to the hospital ward after the battle, he told me that Mr Pucey had been staying with his family, in hiding. I think the two boys were friends."

Pomfrey paused, looking a little pale. Snape nodded for her to continue.

"Going back to the battle...Mr Pucey was next spotted some time later out in the grounds, being...played with...by a masked Death Eater, who then abandoned him to the Dementors. His body was brought in to the Hospital Wing after the battle, he was unconscious, breathing lightly, had no wounds save for some bruising, so my first thought was that he'd just been knocked out… "

Snape felt a rush of anger. "The Death Eater; did they catch him?"

Pomfrey looked sad. "Unfortunately, no, they didn't. Well, not that anyone is certain, for none imprisoned have yet confessed to it."

After being given this information, Snape went back to his bed to finish his soup, and lapse into another bout of brooding, before drifting off into a restless sleep. Two dreadful nightmares later - one involving trying to stem blood gushing through a hole torn in his throat – Snape downed the vial on his bedside cabinet. He no longer hesitated much less queried to a take any potion Poppy left for him.

* * *

"Carrow called Pucey a traitor during his trial at the Ministry, because he saw him hexing other Death Eaters," responded Potter to Snape's repeated question the following afternoon. "But it couldn't have been Carrow who attacked and left Pucey to the Dementors, as he was too busy duelling McGonagall – she won of course."

Snape was standing by the window again, dressed in a dark grey robe. Potter and Granger sat on chairs nearby. He looked out at the bank of heavy rainclouds moving over the far mountains outside, feeling inwardly pleased that Minerva had been the one to bring that noisome excuse for a wizard to heel, but who was to say the Death Eater who'd allowed a boy's soul to be sucked out wasn't still at large, even now?

"Ron Weasley; did he escape the war unscathed?" Snape asked suddenly, turning to search the teenager's faces. After all, weeks had gone by, and only two of the usual trio ever visited... _Where was the third?_

"Oh, Ron's alive!" Hermione spluttered in surprise. "He's fine. But..well...he was certainly in the...er... strongly disagreeing camp when it came to going back for you."

"We haven't been speaking much, recently... bit of a rocky patch..." Added Potter glumly, kicking at the floor with the tip of his boot.

Snape noticed the lad was a little pasty faced and bleary-eyed. Hungover following another row with his friends, perhaps?

It was entirely probable.

In their shared unease, Hermione changed the subject. "We were thinking on what possible options there are for you, now, Professor," she began. "One of them of course...well...do you happen to know of any potions that could reverse the effects of paralysis? You could perhaps look into that to heal your own body? Then, perhaps after that we could try switching you back?"

A contemptuous snort silenced her. "Miss Granger," returned Snape with barely disguised incredulity, "Take this as a compliment if your will, but surely you realise the complexity of the ritual you performed on myself and Mr Pucey is of such a level that it would be sheer bloody luck for you to succeed in switching my soul back again without causing damage to your own?"

"I don't think the success of the original spell had anything to do with luck Professor," responded Hermione stiffly. "Hard work and preparation is better relied on than superstition."

"Think what you will, Granger," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "But take in to account the reason why most wizards avoid such magic as this - attractive though it may be to entertain thoughts of switching your soul into a younger body, I have heard of several experienced spell-casters who died in the attempt. Well...I say died," he added icily, "what I really mean is wind up soulless, much as Pucey did after the Dementor's kiss...All it takes is a second's lapse of concentration..."

Snape watched the two teenagers' response to his words; Potter paled still further, and shot Granger a hot look of anger. Granger looked down, cheeks reddened, but after a moment her mouth became set in a firm line.

"I knew the risks, Professor," she said finally, resolutely, gazing unflinchingly at him, then across to Harry, somewhat defiantly. "I knew the risks, but I thought they were worth it."

Snape only just managed to hold back the sarcastic response at the tip of his tongue. With this choice followed some surprise, and the overwhelming realisation that there was no longer any need for him to keep channelling and drawing on old bitterness to play a part.

_No need to play a part, even._

Hermione Granger, clever witch, had helped him because she thought he was worth helping. He cared not one whit she was a Gryffindor, no anger there. He suddenly realised that the anger he felt now had sprang not from selfish means, but from her putting her own life at risk.

Though she was hardly a child any longer, he reminded himself. She'd thought this through, she could place herself into mortal danger as often as she wished now, getting upset about her doing so shouldn't be any of his business. Yet regardless, he _was_ upset, and to complicate matters even further the fact that he felt upset, was upsetting!

Snape let out a long, weary sigh, one such as the students had probably never heard from him in their lives. "If only I'd been as selfless at your age, Granger," he muttered.

After he voiced these words, Snape felt his shoulders tense, and a fear grip at him. Did he really just say that in front of his former students? _What by Salazar was the matter with him?_ Snape looked down at his hands again; but of course, they were stranger's hands.

Feeling hellishly awkward all of a sudden, Snape turned his back toward them and peered out of the window down into the grounds; he may have been in the castle he had always called home, but emotionally, bodily, he now felt displaced in more ways than one.

"Sir...I think you did all you possibly could to make up for it," ventured Harry, a little stunned at the man's behaviour, in spite of himself. "No one else fooled Voldemort so completely for so long – fooled everyone, at massive risk to yourself. You didn't have to do it, but you did. You couldn't have been less selfless."

"It's not... unwelcome to hear that, in particular from you, Potter," replied the older man softly.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. For the second time in as many minutes, they had witnessed vulnerability in their old Professor like never before.

Hermione pondered. Was Snape's change in demeanour a result of the war being over, or the situation? Hermione made a mental note to research further into this. She certainly hoped it was natural development and not related to the spell. Which of course it shouldn't be – _Merlin forbid - the man's soul had simply been swapped into an empty body_...

She looked back up at the man as he peered out into the castle grounds, his dark grey robes now blending with the skies overhead. Raindrops began to roll silently down the glass.


	7. Forgiveness

As the visit wore on, Hermione's thoughts pondered to Lily Evans. Harry had never allowed anyone but the Ministry to view certain of Snape's memories – and then only the ones that would help to clear his name, but he'd told her and Ron about several of the memories including Lily, and just from those it was painfully clear how much she'd meant to the man.

Yet he'd thrown his friendship away to be in a gang of thugs. Was there any wonder the man had been so embittered a professor?

Hermione looked toward Harry and nodded, at this gesture the young wizard reached into his robe pocket and took out a vial of swirling grey.

"I reckon she'd forgive you, Sir," said Harry quietly, holding it out to Snape, who after a slight hesitation, reached out to take it.

"Took your time returning them, I see," he muttered darkly.

Harry flushed. "I'm very sorry. I looked after them. We used only the ones that would help to clear your name with the Ministry," he explained hastily.

"Shacklebolt ensured it was a fair hearing," explained Hermione. "Harry's additional memories, along with Professor Slughorn's recollections, and Dumbledore's portrait as circumstantial evidence, ensured you were given a pardon."

"An Order of Merlin followed right after it," added Harry. "Professor McGonagall's looking after the scroll for you."

Snape peered at Harry Potter with an inscrutable expression on his pallid face; he could see the young man was bracing himself for an argument. Part of him wished he could fly off the handle at him about the outrageous level of intrusion into his privacy. Aurors and Ministry staff alike had been freely able to view his memories. - he'd given them to Potter to aid in him finishing the Dark Lord once and for all...and to reveal the truth to him. They were not meant to serve as evidence, fleshing out a court case!

Then again, another part of him simply...couldn't care. He would have previously, he would have been incensed; his blood would have been at boiling point! But not now...

Perhaps this was what burnout felt like?

Then again it didn't seem like burnout – it seemed more like he'd left the worst parts of his embittered nature behind in his old body. There was an extraordinary peacefulness, even, sometimes; peace was not something he'd really felt before.

Potter had taken liberties, but with good intentions, not spite. He needn't have bothered to vindicate, yet he had. Snape reflected on the fact that being awarded an Order of Merlin had been a true craving of his at one time, but the shine for that had long since tarnished.

The Ministry pardon was certainly the most keenly appreciated news now, yet at the same time, many of the dreadful deeds he'd done felt like they did not deserve pardon; they were like jagged scars on his soul, and they would never fade.

"You are all so unbearably optimistic." Snape muttered darkly. He gestured sharply across the room at his old, motionless body; "Incase you have deigned to notice, this much vaunted Ministry 'pardon' of yours was awarded to a vegetable, not a man. Infact less than a vegetable; an unconscious, helpless, near lifeless, wasted form confined to a bed." He gritted his teeth, "If the Severus Snape of old were to wake up tomorrow, faculties intact, potentially dangerous, what makes you all believe that he would not be immediately hoisted in front of the Minister for Magic and charged for his extensive list of war crimes...?"

Harry looked irritated, Madame Pomfrey rattled...Hermione, however was not deterred.

"Shacklebolt understands the situation. Most crimes committed as a high-profile spy can be written off, however the Killing Curse on the Astronomy Tower...that had to be subject to full investigation. The hearing for that alone took a month and a half, all evidence had to be brought forward, but the verdict on it proved pivotal to your whole case. You were pardoned."

Snape studied the passionate young witch's face, her jaw stubbornly protruded, her eyes, shining a little. He could see the triumph there, but could not feel or share the warmth of it; this was all too good to be true. No man should be able to murder his employer atop a tower and walk away without punishment!

_Not murder;_ _end mercifully_, came an old wizard's correcting tone in his head.

_Damn you Dumbledore._

Severus Snape had grown accustomed to having good things snatched away or denied him, even the basic joys of friendship were limited... his family life had been tempestuous, his part in his childhood friend's death had torn his heart out. Then, the one man who had rebuilt him afterwards, who had shown faith, belief and trust enough for him to feel like living onward; the only decent father figure he'd ever had, had asked him to murder him...

"You've still not convinced me, Granger," he returned dourly. "The Ministry is a Medusa's head of snakes, even if one hand was not forced to sign the documentation, others were, and no doubt some were bribed. Politicians are politicians; they would turn on a knut if someone paid them to. There are Aurors and Deatheaters alike who'd still want to see my head on a stick. If you believe otherwise then you're a greater fool than I took you for."

Harry started forward angrily. "Always on the negative aren't you, Snape? Beating yourself up? Don't you think you've gone through enough? Don't you think we've all gone through enough?"

Snape simply sneered back at him. "This is nothing to do with punishment, Potter! Using the killing curse, no matter what the circumstance is, is a very serious-"

"Crime, yeah, I know! But Shacklebolt's heard and seen every angle on it, every viewpoint," countered Harry. "He knows it was Dumbledore's final request, one that allowed you to gain Voldemort's trust. Don't forget the Unbreakable too, you saved Malfoy from a worse fate."

A voice came suddenly from the doorway, startling them all.

"Additionally, Severus, I made sure our current Minister of Magic was made very aware of the fact that a considerable number of student deaths were prevented in the school while you were Headmaster,"

Snape turned at the sound of his old colleague's voice. "Minerva."

Minerva McGonagall stepped forward into the room, smiling. "Goodness knows the place looked utterly dreadful, but only after the battle did I realise that things could have been ten times worse for our poor school if any other person had sat in the Headmaster's chair!"

She approached the window where he stood, and paused to scrutinise him, and he her. She had not changed; still impeccably dressed, iron grey hair sternly tied up in a bun, her face as ever a mix of soft-strictness, and here, deep and furrowed concern. Snape had to admit, he'd grown to deeply respect Minerva McGonagall during his years of teaching, and even, dare he admit, care for the witch as a dependable friend...

"Well, Severus," remarked McGonagall, interrupting his thoughts. "As much as it gives me joy to know you are back with us...albeit not in the usual form or attire... I have to admit this whole deed is terribly shocking to me! Had I heard I would have never approved of Miss Granger's plan-"

"Indeed you would not have, Minerva," cut in Snape, eyes suddenly alive with dark amusement. "Our age-old staffroom debate over whose house has the most ill-behaved students could almost certainly be reopened after this..."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "This is not the time for jokes, Severus, I would have rather thought you would be as furious yourself! You're in a student's body, for Merlin's sakes!"

"I have noticed," returned Snape coolly. "Though as you obviously must realise I can do precious little about it at this point in time; my muscles are still as limp as Gillyweed and I am still drinking soup through a straw."

"Severus is right," admitted the Matron, in defence of her patient. "Even though what the students did contravenes Mediwitch ethics and practice, it was performed out of my way, and now...well, my job is not so much to judge, but to care for and to heal, and Severus's job is to get better."

Minerva McGonagall looked away. Snape was fairly sure he could see a glimmer of a tear in her left eye.

"Of course, Matron. All things in context Severus I am very glad to see you awake and walking about. I have visited you quite a few times these past weeks, but each time you were sleeping."

The others watched her as she turned away, dabbing at her eyes with a tartan handkerchief. Snape's eyes never left her.

"Regardless of judge and jury, I will never forgive myself, Minerva," he said softly.

Minerva folded the handkerchief a little, staring at it thoughtfully before finally turning her eyes back to her old colleague, or rather the young man he appeared to be now; face earnest in sorrow and eyes haunted. Eyes far too old for a lad that age; far too knowledgeable of the world of suffering. Yet it was so.

"I'm aware he had not long to live, Severus, due to that terrible curse in the ring. His portrait explained it all to me some months ago," responded Minerva. "Whether you will forgive me for believing you a traitor, though... how can that be forgiven?"

"It is."

At his reply a definite weight seemed to lift itself from the old witch's shoulders, and she gave the smallest of smiles. "No grudge for the battery of hexes I threw at you, then. That we all threw at you? How can I be sure this is really Professor Snape I am talking to?"

"I can assure you it is, Minerva," returned Snape irritably. "And why the hell should I bear a grudge for such behaviour, surely I can only regard your battery of hexes as compliments to the believability of my act?"

The corner of her mouth quirked still more. "I'm sure you wouldn't hold such an affable point of view if one of my battery of hexes had hit the spot," she remarked dryly.


	8. To the Skies

As the weeks passed, Severus continued to gain strength mentally and physically; he no longer required naps throughout the day and took to reading and venturing outside to sit by the lake. His body seemed ungainly at first, being broader and heavier set than he was used to, so he took care to practice basic movements and train his hand eye co-ordination, all when no one was looking, of course. His appetite seemed to leap also; unlike his other one, this body seemed constantly hungry. Pomfrey was forever cajoling him to eat, and eventually he paid more heed to his growling stomach.

His old wand was returned to him also; thankfully it still recognised him as owner, though again there were some troubles with hand-eye coordination. He discovered to his chagrin that his old spells and potions seemed both less powerful and less mastered than they were before.

Restlessness, too, troubled him, almost as much as the nightmares of old did. His concentration for fine tasks was reduced. The stronger he got, the more restless he got, and he often caught himself pacing about the room or feeling abrupt urges to run and jump, but he refused to allow himself to. This was far more vitality than he had ever been used to; Severus deduced this was all due to being in a younger, more solidly built body.

When Pomfrey felt she no longer needed to watch over him, McGonagall arranged some other dungeon rooms for him to stay in. Not his old ones, of course, seeing as the wider Wizarding World were not aware of the goings on in the Hospital ward it would not do to risk encouraging rumours. He transferred all his own possessions in there and made it as comfortable as possible.

He could not bear to pay much heed to his own reflection, because he found it unnerving still – try as he might he could never dismiss the thought of looking back at himself through the eyes of a pupil that he'd failed to help or save. Whenever he was in the bathroom he took great care to avoid the mirror, though his preference was for a razor blade he now used magic to shave, purely so that he did not have to face his reflection.

One morning, however, he changed his mind, and faced the mirror. A weary young face stared back, eyes an intense sea-blue, thick, dark brows and the shadow of stubble on a strong jaw. His hair was dark, cropped short enough so that it bristled. The mouth was wide, yet somewhat grim, but then he'd hardly been thinking positive thoughts lately.

It was quite a hard, masculine face, and though it would always be Adrian Pucey's face, somehow it seemed a lot less so than it had done a few months before. When he sneered there was a definitive air of his old self, his expressions were decidedly his, too, not Puceys. He could grow the hair longer, he supposed, though he must admit he did not overmuch miss the way his longer hair used to blinker his vision...

One familiar thing he did not miss about his old self was the Dark Mark. No longer did he have to carry that snake and skull everywhere on his flesh, branding and damning, there as a reminder every time he took off his shirt.

The body swap still weighed on him; but not quite so heavily as it once did.

* * *

It was now late Summer and barely a week before the new school term. As Snape had no apparent desire to leave the castle, Minerva had been busy suggesting possible tasks and duties he could take on over the term, if he felt able to work. The greatest snag of course was how he looked... Plans about use of potential disguises and even possible masquerade as Adrain Pucey had been discussed, but most he had thrown out as unworkable.

The greatest trouble with masquerading as Pucey of course is that the Ministry had his fate documented, not to mention those who had personally known Pucey in the Wizarding world would almost certainly notice if the young wizard suddenly reappeared walking and talking, with his soul apparently intact...

Late Summer already; time had passed so quickly, even though much of it had been spent in thought, alone or down by the lake when the weather was passable. Snape felt almost unbearably restless these days and it was making him feel caged and quite irritable.

The Gryffindors were visiting him this afternoon, the third time this week infact; Granger as ever still eager to discuss possible ways of returning him to his old body, and as for Potter... Well, Potter _loitered._

Potter visited surprisingly often, but he rarely, if ever, had news or anything interesting to say. Presumably Potter came purely to be a source of irritation, because more often than not when he did utter something it was either awkward or abrasive.

Today, however, the young man seemed as restless as he was. Hermione had wanted to meet in the library. When Granger predictably became absorbed in the latest tome she'd brought with her, (which sounded entirely hopeless, if he were frank) an awkward silence fell. Potter fidgeted, tapped, and scuffed the carpet with his boot. Snape had his nose in a book, trying to read, yet was failing dismally. He was undecided on whether Potter's little noises were irritating enough to warrant remark.

"Er...Sir?"

Snape thought it faintly ridiculous the young man was still calling him Sir, but as his reading was not going well today, he was secretly relieved by the distraction.

"Yes Potter?"

Potter scratched his head, looking a little awkward. "Erm. I know it sounds a bit...well... Fancy a knock about on the Quidditch pitch?"

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Uh...or just a fly about the grounds or something?" Harry shrugged. "It's a nice day out there."

Snape lowered the book and fixed him with a somewhat incredulous stare. "As no doubt my school peers took great glee in informing you, Potter, I've never been much good on a broom, never mind Quidditch. This is why when the opportunity arose to learn to fly without a broom, I jumped at it."

"Oh. No one ever said anything about that," returned Harry, biting his lip. "Never mind then."

Snape eyed him curiously. "You seem disappointed."

"Yeah, well... Pucey was ace on a broom, used to give me hell of a lot of trouble on the pitch."

"Pucey is dead, Potter, and sadly so are his Quidditch skills," replied Snape impatiently.

"Technically speaking, they may not be, if theories on muscle memory bear any weight," remarked Hermione behind her book. "Souls and spirits were exchanged, not brain, muscle or flesh."

Snape faltered, a testy retort dying on his lips. This made sense. It was something he'd been subconsciously aware of, but he'd not taken it seriously. He'd never been much good at catching a ball, but when practicing hand-eye coordination he'd quickly improved beyond his expectations. He'd felt frequent urges to exercise, use his muscles, do push-ups and chin-ups, all things that he'd never been remotely interested in before, and the more he tried to ignore it all, the less balanced and more frustrated he felt. Perhaps a quick fly would help burn some of it off...

He looked back up at Potter and realised the man was still watching him intently, hopefully.

Snape rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "For the sake of experimentation, and experimentation only," he muttered.

For the first time in what seemed like weeks Potter grinned. "I'll get the brooms."

As they trudged toward the fields Potter began to whistle. Snape threw him an irked glance and Potter looked back with a smile in his eyes.

"I can't see what you're feeling so exuberant about, Potter,"

"I haven't flown for months, I'm looking forward to it."

Snape curled his lip. "Well, don't expect a Chaser to be on your tail; I've hardly flown a broom in twenty years."

"Or twelve months, if you think Hermione's theory bears weight; want to bet on it?"

"I do not gamble, Potter."

"Fair do's," was Harry's easy reply. Mounting his broom in one swift motion, leaning forward, the Seeker of old shot up into the skies.

Snape peered up at him with some apprehension; _what in Salazar's name did he think he was doing flying about with Harry Potter?_ His own broom skills were pretty poor, but of course Potter didn't know that.

He mounted and rose up to the top level of the stands, feeling a little shaky. Once he was up there though the rush of the air seemed to give him a leap of courage and a definite buzz; it felt good, and oddly familiar. The breeze was crisp and fresh, the skies that intense blue you get the day after heavy rain, and dotted with little white clouds, even the visibility over the mountains was crystal clear.

He couldn't remember a broomstick ride ever feeling this good in his life.

In a moment all worries and troubles were seemingly forgotten. Leaning forwards and hooking his feet behind the rests Snape tilted his broomstick upwards and accelerated rapidly into the sky.

In all honesty Potter hadn't been expecting him to follow, never mind shoot past him like a rocket; Snape briefly caught the wide-eyed look of shock on Potter's face as he wobbled on his broom, it looked so ridiculous he let out a snort of laughter.

"You git!" Potter roared, though he was grinning too.

"A little rusty are we, Potter?" called back Snape mockingly. "Care to dive? Don't fall off or make a fool of yourself, will you...?"

"Yeah, _in your dreams!_"

Faces set and teeth gritted in challenge, the two men tucked their limbs tight into their brooms, and took one last glance at each other before dropping down like Peregrine Falcons.

* * *

Further around the castle, and not quite so high up in the sky, the Headmistress of Hogwarts stood alone atop the Astronomy Tower, her deep emerald robes rippling in the crisp Highland breeze.

The wind lulled, just for a moment. She closed her eyes and stood there breathing gently, feeling the sunshine gently warm her skin. She had previously made every conscious effort to avoid this place, but since Severus Snape had awoken had felt a sudden need to visit it, just this once more, if never again.

Reopening her eyes, McGonagall edged forward toward the crenelations of the tower battlements and placed her hands on the ancient, weathered stone. It was slightly warm to the touch. Standing slightly on tiptoe she peered over a crenel. Pushing the horrendous memory of Albus' shattered form on the flagstones to the back of her mind, she looked instead across the castle rooftops and over towards the stands of the new Quidditch pitch. Generous donations and charitable help had ensured the replacement viewing stands had been completed well in time for the new Term, they were more solidly constructed and had considerably higher seating capacity than the previous ones, which pleased her immensely.

The fabric decoration of the wooden stands was also very fine indeed; she had requested a Hogwarts School insignia and Coat of Arms be adorned on every single golden banner and drape. House emblems, black and gold, green and silver, bronze and blue, and scarlet and gold flapped away brightly on multiple flagpoles. She planned to organise more competitions this coming year, as distraction and healing for the school, and she wanted every match to be a celebration of triumph over adversity.

She saw a sudden movement high above the pitch then, her gaze shot upwards just as two black shapes shot downwards through a cloud; not shapes she realised - two people - falling like stones.

Her eyes widened; the ground was coming closer and they weren't slowing!


	9. And Back Down Again

Her heart contracted with real horror as she watched the two people fall down through the skies, but then one braked sharply and stopped, then the other, though later, and much _much_ closer to the ground, perhaps little more than five or six feet.

The unmistakeable sound of Harry Potter whooping echoed around the rooftops then, bringing with it relief, and old memories of the days when all the boy had to trouble him on match days was the catching of the Snitch.

Mcgonagall frowned. Two shapes though: Potter and who, exactly? _Potter and Weasley?_ Despite many years on a broom, however, Weasley still did not have the gumption to fly like that. Potter and Granger? But she never had any interest in the game above supporting her friends... It had to be another visitor to the castle.

Regardless, she noted the second flyer was pretty fast and skilful, whoever they were. Fast enough perhaps to be considered for a replacement Quidditch coach perhaps, if they were old enough to take the position, that was. Rolanda Hooch had been repeatedly dropping hints about the lovely cottage she had bought in Cornwall for her retirement, it seemed imminent, if not this upcoming year, then perhaps the next.

She stepped carefully back from the battlements, feeling a little happier. She would ask Harry later this afternoon, perhaps meet the other flyer and request they prolong their visit for tea and discussion...

* * *

When the two wizards finally traipsed back into the Entrance Hall, they found themselves immediately accosted by two witches, one young, one rather older. One looked eager to share information, the other seemed transfixed by surprise.

"Professor, I think I may have found a spell that could work," announced Hermione.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Who is the author?"

"Hereward P. Wight. The publisher was Cherry Press, 1792"

Snape scowled. "No. Hopeless. I looked over that only last week. Unremarkable tome, some spells vague, some clearly lethal; I wouldn't test his methods on a Blast Ended Skrewt!"

"Oh," Hermione looked crestfallen.

"Your theory was true though, Hermione," offered Harry enthusiastically. "Muscle-memory – he took to it like a duck to water. Impressive!"

"Not quite a duck," added Snape cautiously. "But I can't deny flying with a broom was certainly far easier, and less traumatic than I ever remember it to be..."

"So it is true!" Marvelled the Headmistress. "My goodness Severus; I had the fortune to be witness to the last moments of your flying practice. I have to say that dive was worthy of a Professional Quidditch player!"

"Quite, Minerva; I have to say it filled me with an equal amount of surprise," replied Snape darkly. "It also has me wondering what other new skills are skin deep..."

McGonagall looked a little more sobered, then. "Well...Mr Pucey had a natural talent for Transfiguration, I was always more than satisfied with his efforts. Additionally, I also recall him approaching me in his final year, asking questions about becoming an Animagus. I have no idea whether he achieved his goal after leaving school, or not. If he did, he never registered it with the Ministry."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "That would certainly prove far more practical than Quidditch skills. You will have to run by the basics of the method with me later, just in case."

"The Quidditch skills could be just as practical," remarked Harry. "You could join a team, you could teach, even..."

"Do you know, that was exactly what I was going to suggest!" Smiled McGonagall. "I believe a change can be as good as a rest - Rolanda has been repeatedly dropping hints about retirement-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Minerva!" interrupted Snape, suddenly angered. "Regardless of the multiple issues surrounding my continuing use of Pucey's body, surely I'd be of far more use inside the castle where I have a great deal more experience?"

"You may think the game a mere frivolity, Severus, but I do not." replied McGonagall stiffly. "Quidditch enriches wizarding life in many ways, it teaches students crucial flying skills, promotes students to display healthy rather than unhealthy rivalry, and teaches them risk. Above all it gives joy to those who fly and those who support the teams. It is due to the latter that I have arranged extra competitions this coming year. Hogwarts survived a tremendous ordeal, now it is time to let our hair down a little."

Snape sneered. "Let your hair down then; Headmistress. Once you have done that then you can feel free to hire Potter or Weasley to teach brats to ride broomsticks; I'm happier in the dungeons."

He turned abruptly and stalked off in the direction of his rooms, the three Gryffindors looking on, speechlessly.

Harry frowned. "That was weird. I could have sworn he was properly enjoying himself up there; he even laughed when I nearly fell off my broom!"

"Never fear, Mr Potter, be assured I won't let the matter drop," replied McGonagall, a spark of determination in her eyes. "Mr Pucey had a superb eye for the opponent's goal, and you know I don't like to see raw talent go a-wasting."

* * *

As the two young friends took their leave of the castle, Hermione seemed quieter than usual.

"What's eating you?"

"Oh, plenty of things, as per usual," she sighed. "I had a thought earlier, when you commented about Professor Snape enjoying himself flying. We may still be no closer to repairing his old body, but with those Quidditch skills he could probably pass as Adrian Pucey, if he wanted."

Harry was confused. "But he can't, the Ministry know him to be soulless – and everyone else does too."

"I was getting to that, I just paused for breath," she challenged. "As Pucey was attacked by a Dementor – which of course is a chaotic magical creature that cannot be held accountable for its actions - the whole incident was not subject to such rigorous procedures murder victims would have. It would have had only one signatory for a start. In absence of any immediate family, Madame Pomfrey as Mediwitch would have issued the Soul-Departed certificate to the Ministry herself. The Ministry clerk would have then informed the Daily Prophet for inclusion in the daily obituaries. The certificate would have then filed itself away in the Hall of Wizarding Births and Deaths."

"It files itself away?" echoed Harry, intrigued.

"Well, yes, and that is crucial," smiled Hermione. "As you and I know from working in the place these past few months there is so much war paperwork still flying about people just haven't had the time to really process it all yet. The stuff they are concentrating on are the war crimes, they might get to investigating this case in another couple of years, looking for witnesses, but even then I doubt it. It's very possible that no one at the Ministry has seen the certificate - apart from the Clerk."

"So...what are you saying? Are you suggesting we get rid of the Soul-Departed certificate?" ventured Harry.

"Not exactly, no. Changing the records."

Harry was flummoxed. "To what?"

"To comatose."

"Okay..." he frowned. "Well I can see that'll definitely solve the problem of explaining how Pucey's miraculously back on his feet walking and talking...but what about the witnesses?"

"Witness," corrected Hermione. "I've been looking closely into this and there was only one - Ernie Macmillian, and it was at a distance. He told Madame Pomfrey that Dementors were circling when the Death Eater was attacking Pucey; he was caught up in a furious fight though, by the time he could glance back again the Dementors had left and there was just a body lying there. The other witness – another Hufflepuff – apparently saw a masked Death Eater dragging Pucey through the castle down into the grounds, but not the scene in the grounds itself."

"So Pomfrey's examination is the lynchpin," mused Harry. "She could resubmit a new certificate, say she made a mistake, got Pucey's examination wrong, but it wouldn't look good on her employment records... Good luck with persuading her to do that..."

"Well; I know... I'm sure there has to be a nice way of asking her..."

They lapsed into silence for a short while, but now it was Harry's turn to look troubled. "If there's one thing I have an issue with...well...Snape would still have to pretend he was Pucey, after everything he's gone through, do you think he'd honestly enjoy more acting?"

"No Harry, of course I don't," she sighed. "Which is why I've been trying desperately to find a decent healing spell so he can have his old body back, but other things are pressing on me now - school term starts next week, after this he can't just go walking about the corridors like he has been. The Professor has acknowledged Polyjuice as an option, but I'm not so keen - the poor man's displaced enough as it is!"

She stopped then, crouched down and fished about in her bag a bit, before pulling out a copy of a well known Muggle broadsheet newspaper. It was folded round a certain article.

She thrust the paper at him. "Look at this."

**Head Injury, Coma and Personality changes; how loved ones can become strangers.**

He did not have to read further than the self-explanatory headline, but he did anyway because to put it frankly, he could not help it. _It was bizarre: From people awaking from a comatose state speaking a foreign language or accent, new addictions, new hobbies, memory loss, behavioural problems, personality changes..._it seemed anything was possible. And believable.

He looked up, a lop-sided grin spreading across his face. "Hermione; have I ever told you you're a genius?"


	10. To Tunnels Underground

Once safely in the old, familiar darkness of his dungeon rooms, Severus turned and spelled the door shut behind him. Lighting a fire in the hearth, he dragged his armchair closer and threw himself into it.

_Damned Gryffindors._

He craved nicotine all of a sudden, Muggle cigarettes, something to hold in his restless fingers, something to still his thoughts, which was peculiar as he had never smoked more than one in his life; presumably this was yet another prodigious _talent_ he had acquired from Pucey_._ Firewhiskey had once been a reliable nuller for him, but when he tried some last week he had discovered he could no longer stand the taste.

Now flying appeared a vice too; he'd barely been off a broom half an hour, his muscles were aching, but already he itched to fly again.

As intelligent as he was, he had certainly not considered human flesh to be capable of holding memories; because he'd always assumed – like most people no doubt – that all memories lived within the soul. The subconscious and the conscious all rolled into one complete personality that could move unheeded.

_Not so_.

Severus rested his throbbing head on an arm and winced. His body operated on an animal level, sensations, reactions, learned responses; like most animals it was a creature of habit. He'd been reasoning and tussling with its desires silently these past months, but today there was no question which was winning.

He let out a growl; _Fuck it._ He grabbed hold of a nearby book; one swipe of a wand later and it was transfigured into a cigarette.

"Incendio."

Taking a long drag, he closed his eyes and blew smoke slowly out through his nostrils.

He savoured it right down to the filter tip, watching the smoke curl and twist in the air, gradually filling the room with its grey-blue haze. The smell lead him reluctantly back to his childhood; awakening memories of Coketown's working men's clubs and pubs, places his father, and indeed uncle and grandfather had spent so much time in.

The Black Bull at the end of their street had been his father's favourite pub; Severus had only been in there a few times when his mother had sent him out to find him and tell him tea was ready. The local men who frequented there had mostly been miners, toiling long hours. A crowded, Victorian place of dark wood and yellowed gloss paint, he recalled the sight of pit-stained faces, and the raucous laughter ringing out in response to some dirty joke.

He'd hated and misunderstood these men as a child, but looking back as an adult... he realised he'd hated them more because he was different, for better or worse, this was a world he could never be part of; even if his father had been a decent, magic-tolerating soul...

The mine his uncle, father, and grandfather before him had worked down was closed by the government in 1984, when Snape was 24 years old, because 'coal was no longer profitable.' His father and uncle had spent their whole lives working underground in darkness, they knew nothing else. Once the pit closed they had no choice but to join the dole queue along with hundreds of other townsfolk. Magic had saved Severus Snape from the chaos of the picket lines, protests and poverty, but it had also cost him friends, and certainly hadn't saved him from himself.

Snape flicked the stub into the fire and sighed wearily; His body had stilled, but his mind most definitely had not.

* * *

Hogwarts new school term rolled another day closer. Hermione and Harry returned once again the next morning to broach their plan to Madame Pomfrey. When they arrived however, they were told that the Mediwitch, unfortunately, had been called away to a consultation at St Mungos.

"Well, that's my morning wasted," muttered Hermione as they headed away from the Hospital Wing.

"Not really; we still need to talk to Snape; reckon he'll like the idea?"

The witch gave her friend a weary look. "I shouldn't be too optimistic."

As they stepped into the Entrance Hall a large portrait on their right gave a cough. The Gryffindors came to an abrupt stop when they turned to see the painted form of their old Headmaster peering down over his spectacles at them. He was wearing robes of pale blue, and appeared a little younger than the time they had last seen him alive; the artist had been sympathetic with the brush strokes.

Sir Wemys, the original inhabitant of the frame was nowhere to be seen, but then this wasn't an unusual occurrence in magical paintings.

Hermione quivered, stiffened and said nothing. Beside her Harry gave a curt nod. "Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning Harry," responded Dumbledore politely. "Business with Hogwarts again, I see?"

"Er, yes."

The portrait of Dumbledore fixed him with a steady gaze, which, despite coming from an oil painting still pierced like it was practising Legilimency. "Indeed..."

"The man deserves a break, you know," responded Harry uneasily, feeling the need to defend himself.

Dumbledore took a sweet from his pocket and began to unwrap it. "I am no longer part of your life, Harry, so by turn expect to have no more say in it. However, if I must make one observation and one observation only regarding the whole debacle... do not forget that a bird with a broken wing requires a great deal of care if it is to fly again."

"We do care; _unlike you!_" glared Hermione.

Dumbledore's expression grew sad. "Alas, but I did. Too much, I fear. War forces us to make decisions, Miss Granger, and some of them will inevitably be terrible."

Harry pulled at his friend's shoulder. "Come on, let's go; we're achieving nothing here."

As they walked away, across the hall to the dungeon steps, the portrait called after them.

"Some books are better left unopened, some pages best left unturned, Harry Potter. But if you wish to turn them and read their words, take great care not to lose yourself."

As Harry paused on the dungeon steps a chill passed down the back of his neck; when he glanced back Dumbledore had vanished from the frame.

* * *

Severus Snape was remarkably slow at answering his door. When he did finally open it, it was only a little way. Half a face appeared in the chink, unshaved and somewhat sullen looking.

"Granger and Potter grace me with their presence, once again," he drawled. "To think, in the not so distant past, the only reason Gryffindors ventured this far down these dark tunnels was to serve a detention..."

"May we come in?" enquired Hermione politely.

His one visible eye narrowed. "No, Granger, you may not. These are my private rooms and I do not wish to be disturbed." With this remark he snapped the door shut in their faces.

"But-I have a plan!"

"As fundamentally flawed as your last one, Granger? _Spare me, do_..." came the muffled reply.

Hermione puffed her cheeks out in annoyance, hands on hips. "I've said I am sorry for that many times, you know I have! This plan will give you a lot more freedom, if you could spare just five minutes? Please?"

There was a short pause before the door was wrenched open again. Drawing himself to his full, intimidating height, Snape stepped close to Hermione and looked her full in the eye, his face a mask of barely concealed temper.

"Fine: You now have four minutes and fifty seconds."

Hermione took a breath, and began to explain.

* * *

"Well, that went amazingly well," remarked Harry sarcastically as they crossed the school grounds a short time later.

"As much as I still deeply disagree with Dumbledore's wartime methods, he did have a point about birds with broken wings," replied his friend with a weary sigh.

* * *

Back in the dungeons, Snape transfigured another book. He stood there in the dim candlelight holding the cigarette between his fingers, but not lighting it.

If he were honest, Granger's plan wasn't all that horrendous...workable even. _She had just knocked on his door at the wrong time..._

However, every time had been the wrong time, lately; he just wasn't feeling that social.

Snape brought his hand up to place the white stick in his mouth. As he moved to light it he paused, took the cigarette out again and examined it more closely.

Players No. 6: _his father's old brand._

Snape's mouth twisted ruefully.


	11. Troubled

Harry wasn't sleeping too well. Lately, he'd found himself waking in the small hours, Tonight was no different.

Ginny lay beside him, fast asleep. Her soft breaths were the only sound in the room, bar the occasional dead-creak of a house joist or beam. The Burrow was unusually quiet; even the family ghoul did not appear to be in a pipe-clonking mood.

He had been spending the night in Ginny's room for the past six months now, and though at first it was wonderful to have her close, now he found himself a little troubled by it. He didn't quite know why, though.

His thoughts returned to the nightmare that had frightened him awake; a gloomy room, and in it a menacing drunk man raising his hand to lash him with an old leather belt.

His skin crawled... Nightmare? It wasn't a nightmare...it was a real memory! _Not his...however..._

Harry chewed nervously on his lip. He should have given it back to Snape when he returned the rest of them, though it appeared the man had not missed it. Unsurprisingly. Perhaps he could just stick it in a bottle somewhere instead, but that seemed a bit careless. What if it was misplaced?

No. Even though he was now a grown man Harry still did not like talking about how the Dursleys had treated him as a child; as awful as it had been, it was still a family matter and one that he had learned to deal with himself. This awful memory of Snape's was of the same kind, worse in some ways; and certainly not a memory to leave lying around. He had to either keep it or give it back to him. He would decide in the morning.

Letting out a small sigh Harry turned over on his other side, plumped the pillow a little and tried to settle down again.

Tried, and failed.

After another hour of tossing and turning, he'd had enough. Pushing the covers aside he swung his legs out, and perched on the side of the bed. He stood, rubbing his eyes, before walking wearily out to the bathroom to relieve himself.

Rinsing his hands under the tap after, he looked across at the Cheval mirror to his right. His reflection looked as exhausted as he felt; hair standing habitually on end, grey bags under his eyes, shoulders slumping, and one leg of his pyjamas ridden part-way up his calf. He shrugged it back down with the toes of his other foot and turned to face the glass – a couple of old curse scars from the final battle had left white and red lines criss-crossing one of his arms.

He wondered if Snape had scars from that leather belt...Though as they were caused by non-magical means he could have healed them...

A mixture of anger and horror and sadness crept over him again. He'd grown up knowing his mother and father had loved him at least, and Uncle Vernon may have hated magic, but he had never beaten him like a dog... if he had, would The Boy Who Lived have turned out angrier, more troubled, would he have accepted the Sorting Hat's attempt to place him in Slytherin?

Harry was a little worried to realise he didn't know the answer to this. He also didn't know why he was brooding so much about it, exhausting himself...

_It was the memory: it had to go, and it had to go tomorrow._

He rubbed his bleary eyes and turned from the mirror to pad back into the bedroom.

Ginny was up considerably before her boyfriend, she'd showered, dressed and was downstairs munching breakfast before he had even poked a toe out from under the duvet. Harry had been emerging later and later in the morning recently and it troubled her. It troubled her even more that he seemed reluctant to talk about what was bothering him. Of course there was the matter of Snape...but she didn't think he'd be that caught up about the whole thing...

She climbed the stairs again and called softly across the bedroom. "Harry? You'll be late for work – it's 8:30..."

Harry sighed; he was awake, of course. "I know, love. I've got a bit of a headache, not sure if I'm up for work, might floo in sick."

She crossed the room and kissed him. "Mum's got some ointment and potions for headaches; would you like me to get you one?"

"Don't worry, I'll get one when I get up."

"Okay, well you know they're kept in the top cupboard by the pots in the kitchen, don't you? Mum's gone shopping this morning, and I've got Quidditch practice after work today so will be home a bit later."

"Okay. Love you."

Ginny smiled, "Love you too."

As she reached the doorway she turned back, a frown of concern on her brow. "You are okay, aren't you? I wish you'd tell me what's on your mind..."

Harry gazed back at her, "I'm fine, honest, I...just had a nightmare last night..."

"...and the night before, and the nights before that..." Ginny responded. "You're bordering on insomniac these days."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know...I should probably take some Dreamless Sleep for a bit just to catch up"

"That would probably be a good idea...it might help me sleep better too; you're not the only one who wakes up a lot from your nightmares, you know," she added reproachfully.

Harry sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. I will definitely take some tonight, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that – I don't want to drop any more goals through tiredness!"

After Ginny had left the house, Harry rose, patted down to the fireplace to floo in sick with work. (He did genuinely have a headache - from tiredness...) After this he showered, tidied his hair as best he could, then began to dress, fussing over the details a little more than usual. He tried one shirt on, rejected it, a second was left on the floor before a third was deemed acceptable. Two pairs of jeans went the same way. He peered at his shoes carefully and rubbed the dust off so they looked more presentable.

He skipped breakfast as he didn't feel hungry, managed only a very brief glance at the Daily Prophet to scan for latest Death Eater trial developments, before packing his broom and leaving the house to apparate.

One crack later and Hogwarts' front gates were creaking aside to allow him entry. As he walked down the driveway he felt nerves rise and butterflies in his stomach, but tried to ignore them.

The dungeons of Hogwarts' Castle were as darkly, dankly unwelcoming, as usual. As a boy Harry had assumed that Snape had his classroom down there not only because he was a Slytherin, but because he wanted to terrify his first year students as much as possible. Perhaps this was still partly true; Snape did have a bona-fide sadistic streak... but now, older and wiser, and war-jaded, he grasped that at least half of Slytherin House's students ended up in the dungeons because they had known some kind of trauma in their past, and had not come to terms with it. Sometimes this was their fault, sometimes not... In many cases it was true that their natural defence was to hide and bury these personal tragedies or misfortunes, and keep prying people away. What better place to achieve such a thing than down these chill, subterranean tunnels...

As Harry's knuckle paused before rapping at the man's door a second time in under twenty-four hours, he wondered if what he was feeling for Snape was pity...he hoped it wasn't..._surely the man would hate that_...


	12. Memories for Two

Severus awoke to a sharp knocking at his chamber door. He found himself slumped in the armchair by his fireplace, still dressed in last night's robes. There was a foul, noisome taste in his mouth..._how many had he smoked last night?_

Regardless he craved another already...to take the taste away. Truly ridiculous thinking...but that's what it felt like.

The knocker rapped again, the sound reverberating right through his ear. Snape scowled.

"Who's battering my door at bloody ten thirty in the morning?"

"Uh...it's Harry, Sir."

Snape rolled his eyes. _By Salazar..The Boy Who Lived was rapidly turning into the Man that Wouldn't Flush... He better have a reasonable excuse..._

_And furthermore, Potter was still calling him bloody Sir... he wasn't even his damned Professor anymore...! He wasn't even a Professor anymore..._

"What's the meaning of this?"

"I'd...I'm sorry – I'm here because I need to give something else back...to you. Sir."

Snape paused, his eyes narrowing. _What had Potter still got of his?_ This was curious... He raised himself from his chair, straightened his robes, then crossed to his chamber door and wrenched it open.

"In here; _now._" Potter obeyed without hesitation. Snape cast a suspicious eye over him.

The Gryffindor looked a little more pale and exhausted than usual, but resolute. He was unusually tidily dressed for Potter, and had a peculiar expression on his face, coupled with such soulful burning in his eyes that...wasn't pity, _wasn't_..._what was it?_ Snape was confused, and for a moment quite forgot that he was supposed to be angry.

"Listen; I'm sorry about yesterday-" Potter began.

"Forget it," dismissed the Slytherin with a terse swipe of his hand. "Where's Granger?"

Harry looked confused. "But I thought you told her to-"

"Stick it up her arse, yes Potter, thank you for reminding me," interrupted Snape tersely. "The timing of your visit happened to coincide with...a bad day generally..."

"Oh. I see."

"After some thought, the plan doesn't seem that unworkable..."

"Oh, okay."

"I do have some suggestions however, things she has overlooked that need to be discussed first."

Harry nodded. "Right. Well, she's working 'til late today. As I should be too, but..."

"You thought you would take the day off just because you couldn't sleep last night?" Finished Snape with a raised eyebrow.

"How did-"

"It's obvious Potter; I can tell by your drawn expression and shadows under your eyes... the fact that you are here and not back home in bed obviously discounts true sickness..."

Harry scowled. "It's not just because I didn't sleep, you know..."

"Nightmares too? _Oh, bless you_..." responded Snape sarcastically. "Perhaps ones about snakes ripping your throat out, or waking up in another's body, or even perhaps killing your mentor over and again..."

"No... no nightmares – just memories...usually the memory of Dumbledore making me force-feed him that poisoned potion in the Horcrux cave is enough to keep me awake at night," replied Harry coolly. "Sometimes, though it develops into a nightmare where I am charged with his murder, sometimes even he's the one spooning that potion down my neck..."

Snape felt the Gryffindor's defiant stare as it bored in to him and clenched his jaw. He pulled his eyes away and turned abruptly, sweeping across the room to throw himself back into his chair. Once there he took a book, flung it somewhat petulantly onto the floor where it transfigured itself into a second armchair.

"Sit."

"A please would be-"

"Don't push it, Potter," hissed Snape.

Harry sat. His former professor picked up the small, iron poker hung by the fireplace and turned it agitatedly in his fingers.

"Now...get to the point: what are you here for?"

The Gryffindor took a steadying breath. "Back when Hermione did the spell, transferring your soul, she had to move all your memories separately...which she did, but later on, near the end she was very exhausted and when the last memory was due to go in she...well-"

"She what?"

"She lost strength – but just for a moment. She collapsed. The memory was whipping about, she told me to take it, she could put it back later...so I took it. I meant to add it to the others in the bottle, but that didn't happen..."

Snape's eyes, sea-blue, bored into Harry's. He placed the tip of the poker onto the flagstones, both hands atop, and leaned forward menacingly.

"What memory?"

Harry's expression grew pained. He looked away, his hands gripping into the chair. "Your father, A Muggle wasn't he?"

Knuckles gripped white around the poker handle. Snape betrayed little other emotion.

Harry felt his insides clench. "That wasn't the only time he...hit you...was it?"

Snape looked down then, the sides of his mouth twisting. "No Potter, it wasn't."

There was a long pause before either of the men spoke again.

Harry felt jittery then, he got up to walk the room, and Snape did not stop him. "My Uncle and Aunt always used to shut me in their cupboard under the stairs, and Dudley, my cousin, well... you've seen some of the memories," said Harry quietly. "All of that was abusive. But none of them...beat me like that..."

Snape gave a bitter laugh. "Surprised Dumbledore didn't stop it in your case," he muttered.

"Perhaps he didn't realise,"

"Don't be a fool, Potter; that was all part of his plan as I came to realise; he didn't want a spoiled Boy Saviour,"

Harry chewed his lip, frowning heavily. Did Dumbledore knowingly allow him to eke out his childhood in a stair cupboard? His entire life manipulated...It was depressing to think as cynically as Snape in this case...

He sighed. "How old were you when your father first hit you..can you remember?"

"Suddenly very interested in my childhood now, _aren't we?"_ Muttered Snape defensively. "What do you want from me?"

"I...well..nothing. I would just like to know, if you don't mind talking about it," responded Harry awkwardly. "I'm sorry if you don't. It's just...well it was the memory that's been keeping me awake...your father seems a horrible man."

Snape sneered. "Was: He's dead now. He first hit me around age three or four...because apparently at that age I was '_old enough to know better_." Unsurprisingly though the abuse coincided more with his drinking than any moral teaching..." He gave a rather sinister smile. "He taught me the meaning of the word hatred, did my dear father..."

Harry felt the hair rise at the back of his neck at the man's last comment. He watched as Snape put the poker back, then transfigured another book before his eyes. Again, like the chair, using wandless magic. He couldn't recall the man transfiguring things very frequently before; it seemed more habitual for him, now. McGonagall had said Pucey had been skilled at Transfiguration.

The elder wizard raised the transfigured cigarette toward his mouth, then paused, smirking. "How rude of me not to offer one to my a guest. Here-"

Before Harry could protest Snape had flung the cigarette at him and he had shot a hand out and caught it. "Thanks, but...I don't smoke. Didn't know you did either..."

"Well, I _didn't know I did either, Potter_; but such are the joys of squatting in a borrowed soul-chamber with a predilection to the damned things...not to mention the craving for speeding inanely around the skies with a bit of wood shoved between my loins."

Despite the sarcasm and bitterness of the last remark Harry couldn't help but quirk his lips. "I'm sure there are worse addictions in life than the odd packet of fags and Quidditch," he responded wryly.

"Yes...Alcohol for one," responded Snape darkly, transfiguring another and lighting up.

"I'm not good with my drink; bit of a lightweight really," shrugged Harry.

Snape stared at the smoke curling in the air. "I'd call that fortunate. Father drank from morning til closing time when he could, 'til the family food money was all spent, child allowance, too... Do you know I was up to half a bottle of Firewhiskey a day myself before the Final Battle...Fortunately, however, I've been spared that vice now at least – this body can't seem to bear the damned stuff."

Harry looked into his old Professor's young, haunted face, quietly marvelling at the fact that after so very many years of shouting, screaming and bellowing blindly at one another through prejudice and hurt, they were finally managing some kind of conversation.

There was something else there too, but for the moment it seemed no more than transient.


	13. Of Phoenixes

**CHAPTER 13 – Of Phoenixes**

Like so very many occurrences that Summer, his current situation was difficult to comprehend: Harry James Potter; son of James Potter – his childhood enemy, and Lily Evans, his childhood friend, was at this very moment propping himself up by his fireplace, hands in pockets, listening intently to him.

His looks, coupled with hair standing up in the typically nonchalant, offensive way echoed his father, James. However, the young man's attitude, his tolerant behaviour, the fiery determination and selfless spirit? They were all Lily's, through and through; the boy had done a hell of a lot of growing up these past few years.

Though in saying that he couldn't deny that he had changed, too. The war between Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore had lead them both to their deaths, then beyond death...now they faced each other anew.

Magical theory has it that every time a Phoenix burns up his soul it visits limbo for a brief moment, before returning to its young, regenerated body; Snape didn't quite feel a Phoenix, perhaps a bedraggled, weary, broken-feathered one at most... Regardless, the significance of it was playing on his mind.

Whatever drunken, senseless things his father had done, whatever stupid argument his parents had, however miserable Severus felt as a child, young Lily had listened to him, calmed his soul... It had always been a great relief to open up to her. In those few blessed years of childhood he had felt he could tell her anything, almost. She had been his flame in the darkness, the bright flicker of a candle in a dreary room...

_If he looked at Potter directly the illusion was shattered, of course, but if he looked away, or closed his eyes..._

Potter broke the silence, clearing his throat. "Wasn't it risky, the drinking?"

Snape stubbed out the end of the cigarette he was smoking and flicked the stub into the fireplace, his mouth once more set in a grim line. "Obviously, yes; but when you are grieving any risk becomes muted by the need to blot out emotions... I was as cautious as I felt I could be, enough to continue my duty, but as the months passed by, I was consuming such levels of potions by then they were losing effectiveness, so in desperation I began to rely more and more on alcohol to achieve the same level of numbness..."

"Merlin...you must have gone through hell."

Snape snorted at the grave response, but a glance upwards to meet the speaker's sad gaze verified the sincerity of it. Like his mother's before him, Harry Potter's eyes had never been able to hide true concern. The boy was soft, like that, compassionate, but then that was what had saved him.

He wasn't sure what he felt about the young Gryffindor treating him with an iota of respect...if these had been more paranoid times he would have suspected the Imperious Curse had been placed on the boy, but even disregarding the fact Potter could shake the curse, the motives beyond anything like that was senseless. What motive? What point? He found none.

_None bar true concern..._

Snape looked away then, feeling nothing but awkwardness. "I suppose I did. But then, life had never been a bed of roses, so, I bore it." He shrugged.

"So...What happened to your father? Did he die?"

_Dear Merlin...here we go, the therapy session as brought to you by the prophetic son of your childhood nemesis; you could not make it up,_ thought Snape darkly to himself, pressing his fingers into the arms of the chair. But at the same time he realised he could welcome the opportunity to just talk to the boy and not have to lie about himself, or cover anything up. His thoughts wandered to Dumbledore then; the man who had written him off to die once his part was played. _If the old Headmaster could only see this tete a tete now..._

"I'll confess there were times as a child when I wished he would die, because his drinking and gambling left us with barely a pot to piss in." He muttered, his blue eyes gazing intently into the fire. "But no; my father died from complications due to accumulated coal dust in the lungs. As foul a creature as he was, it was hardly a pleasant way to go..."

Harry looked a little surprised. "He was a coal miner?"

In a moment Snape's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "Yes, Potter...as was my uncle and grandfather also... Not all wizards are so privileged."

Harry raised his palms in defence. "Hey; I didn't mean it that way...! I wasn't judging...I just, well it's surprising as mining's not heard of these days. That's all."

Snape searched the boy's face, yet again found nothing judgemental in the boy's demeanour. Of course it was his father who had been the snob, James Potter had mocked him openly...

For decades he had been so defensive, so used to being judged by his background it came as somewhat of a shock to meet someone who honestly did not give a rat's arse about where he had been born and in what circumstances. It just served to remind him how he had spent too long, _far, far too long_ mixing with cliques of prejudiced, embittered, small-minded magicfolk.

It also served to remind him how red-raw some decades-old memories still were.

Snapping out of his reverie he realised Potter was still looking back at him with a half-wounded, half irked expression. Snape mumbled an apology and then continued. "My father and uncle worked in the town's pit for near on three decades of their lives...if I had not been born with magic I would have joined them...until the government shut the mines down, of course."

As Snape spoke Harry moved back to the chair and was now sat with his head propped up on one arm, leaning forward with a new curiosity. "Did my mother have coal miners in her family, too? Did you ever meet my grandparents?"

Snape cast Harry a wilting glance. "Has your aunt never mentioned your grandparents?"

Harry leaned back and shrugged. "No. She's rarely if ever mentioned my mother, let alone my grandparents...I don't know a thing about them."

"I guess it is not so surprising; she was extremely jealous of her sister's magic as a child," Snape said darkly.

Harry gave a slow nod; that made perfect sense to him.

"Petunia was also an insufferable, snobbish cow."

Harry tried to hide a smirk behind his hand. "Oh...She's not changed much, then."

Snape's eyes narrowed a little. "I'm sensing from your enrapt expression Potter that I shall get little peace from you until you've milked as much familial information as you can from your troubled, ex-Professor..."

"Probably not," replied Harry lightly.

Snape scowled.

"Very well..." he began grudgingly. "Your grandparents, Potter, were fortunate to live in a less grubbier part of town than my family did; while your great-grandfather was a coal miner, your grandfather was not; he won a scholarship to a grammar school and went on from that to become a chemist, running a small shop in the North of Coketown. He met your grandmother while running the shop, and the two married. The whole family lived above the chemists. They were definitely one of the more fortunate families in the town, to not be reliant on coal for income."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "So my grandfather knew medicine, my mother was good at Potions and charms which if you look at it one way are technically the magical equivalent – that's actually pretty cool!"

Snape raised a wry eyebrow. "Cool? More logical in my mind. I'm not sure I can claim the same homage to my father's profession, however...unless you count the predilection for living and working in dark, dank underground spaces..."

"I guess if you think about it that way, then yes," the Gryffindor replied, amused.

_I do think about it Potter...I rarely cease thinking about it, ever...right down to subconscious choice of cigarette brand...I ran away from my father as soon as I was able to, and some damned part of me has never stopped running..._

Snape stared intently into the fire. "Indeed."

Harry watched the man as he glowered into the flames, his expression growing more sullen by the minute. He decided it was probably time to change the subject.

"Have you been out flying at all since the other day?"

Harry judged by the speed at which Snape's expression changed their moment of amicability had just been shattered. "Of course I haven't, Potter; I've got better things to do than accommodate every unfamiliar and unwelcome bodily urge. _No more talk of bloody flying!_"

Harry shrugged, clearly disappointed at the older man's sudden retreat. "Why not? Flying's good for the soul and it's definitely much better than smoking...why don't you give that up and get on a broom instead?"

Snape glared. "Because Potter; I do not have to give reasons for everything I do, most especially not to you, or Granger for that matter! It's all none of your damned business!"

"But, all I'm-"

_"Enough!_" Snape slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair.

Harry took a nervous breath and held his hands up. "Okay... we beg to differ, then."

Snape gave a sharp nod, but his eyes remained stormy. "Yes we most certainly do, Potter. I would appreciate if you would leave my rooms. Now."

Harry gave a deep sigh, stood up and walked to the door. "Sorry I upset you. I'll just tell Hermione you want to see her regarding the plan."

Snape did not reply until the young wizard had walked through the door and had almost closed it behind him.

"Tell Granger to be here at six tonight; on the dot."

Harry paused, the door open a mere chink. "Will do. And oh...I'd appreciate it if you'd be a bit more civil to her, at least!"

He closed the door quickly and walked off before Snape could reply. When he reached the school apparition point he cursed when he realised he'd once again forgotten to give Snape back his old childhood memory.

Then again, the man had hardly sounded like he needed it.


	14. The Plan

**CHAPTER 14 – The Plan**

Hermione raised a fist and rapped smartly at the dungeon door. Harry had warned her of the Slytherin's earlier mood, as well as his new vice. She didn't approve of smoking in the slightest, but at the same time didn't want to risk the man cursing and throwing her plan back in her face the second time.

She'd have to do her very best to keep quiet if he lit up, then.

The dungeon door opened of its own accord and swung open. The room beyond was very dimly lit; one sconce held a barely glowing torch, there was a slight ember in the fireplace, also. As the acrid smell of stale cigarette smoke hit her nostrils she had to resist the urge to wrinkle up her nose.

"Granger." The voice came from a chair near the fireplace. She could just make out the oval of a face looking back at her, features orange from the glow of the coals. It was all rather eerie.

"Sir," she began.

The Slytherin steepled glowing orange fingers beneath his chin, and glowered up at her. "I am no longer your Professor, Granger, call me Severus."

"Se-"

"Infact; don't call me Severus, call me Adrian; for this is what this is all about, isn't it? _Your little plan?_"

Hermione was thrown. She shivered a little as she felt the icy hand of unease draw down her back. "Erm, could we have a bit more light in here, please? Just so we can see the documentation I've bought along?"

Snape gave an odd smile. "Of course, Granger." A hand was raised, without wand, Hermione noted, and both the torches and the fireplace leapt up in flame. The wizard was most certainly regaining his old magic, it seemed.

Hermione sat in the chair opposite and unclasped her bag to draw out a small, black file. "I'll cut to the chase. Here," She passed the file to him.

There was a pause while Snape scrutinised her face. A mistrusting look, she thought, cynical. There was also some other emotion hiding behind it all. When he had been in his old body the Professor had been a master at ensuring his emotions never reached his facial expressions, but a change in body had blunted this skill a little.

To her it looked like sadness, or grief.

She watched him as he opened the file and scanned across the pages of writing, his eyes narrowing in parts, widening in others. He transfigured a cigarette from a nearby book but did not light it, allowing it to hang absent-mindedly from the corner of his mouth as he read. His lips twisted a little once or twice, and another time he smirked, as if he were amused by something she had written. He picked up the Muggle news clippings and read them, too.

When he had finished reading everything he arranged the paper and parchments back into a neat stack on the arm of the chair. Finally he lit the cigarette and peered back up at her through the curls of smoke.

"So; you intend to explain change in personality away with coma, or some kind of a bash on the head? Is that sound enough, do you think, Granger?"

Hermione met his eyes, unwavering. "I'll admit it's not the best plan I've ever had, but it's a lot easier on you, isn't it?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "_Is it?_ Has any twenty year old coma patient, to your knowledge, ever awoken with forty years' of life experience and memories wedged away in their sorry brain? Are you suggesting that I should endeavour to forget everything that has happened to me prior to nineteen-seventy-eight and henceforward live my life as a fresh-faced boy fresh out of wizarding school?"

Hermione looked down at her shoes. "Point taken," she mumbled.

"I guess you could always obliviate me."

Hermione's head shot up. "What-"

Snape's blue eyes glittered sinisterly back at her. "But if you tried that be assured I'd probably kill you before you uttered the second syllable."

"Oh." _Snape was joking about wiping his memory_. She didn't know what to make of that. "Was that meant to be a joke?"

"I guess it was, Granger; a bit of a dark one; but Gryffindor's are not known for their sense of humour, are they?"

"Not when it pertains to memory-wiping, no, not generally." She responded icily.

Then Snape remembered; before the trio had gone on the Horcrux hunt, Granger had had to obliviate her parents so they didn't remember her...

Ah.

The cigarette suddenly tasted very bitter, so he stubbed it out and threw it away. They stared at each other stiffly across the hearth.

After a time Hermione gave an awkward gesture toward the file. "You can burn that now you've read it. Professor McGonagall has seen it. Madame Pomfrey has agreed to do her bit, too."

Snape lost no time in flinging the paperwork into the fire. He watched it burn with an unreadable expression. "This won't reflect favourably on her; identifying Soul-departed from a comatose body is something a Mediwitch learns in their first year of training."

"Well...none of this whole situation does, really, does it?" admitted the young witch flatly, also staring uneasily into the fire. "I'm probably in her debt somehow. I'll guess I'll have to live with that."

"There are far worse things to live with."

Hermione couldn't disagree with that.

"So. This is sorted, then?" She ventured.

"For the moment."

Hermione rose to leave. As she neared the door, however, she turned back.

"What was it like, being Headmaster of Hogwarts, Si...Severus?"

The older-but younger man raised his eyes to hers, _sad eyes more than anything_, she thought. "Like walking on the thinnest of wires over the darkest of crevasses," he responded, quietly. "It is not an experience I wish to repeat."

* * *

One by one over the next few days, the Hogwart's teachers trickled back from their holidays. Pomona Sprout tanned from a Summer working contentedly in her cottage herb gardens. A little plume of smoke could be seen curling from the chimney pot atop Hagrid's newly built hut. Flitwick and Slughorn had returned, also, among others.

Three days before the start of the new term, McGonagall welcomed them all back at the evening meal. A haunch of roast venison, nut roast, dishes of vegetables, potatoes, several gravy boats and all kinds of condiments dotted the table. Just before they began to eat, Hagrid got clumsily to his feet and raised his goblet of wine.

"To absent friends."

Faces all down the length of the table flickered with sadness, pain and regret; they raised their goblets in chorus.

"_To absent friends."_

Hagrid sat back down heavily and blew his nose on the side of the tablecloth.

McGonagall chinked a wine goblet then, and stood, looking around at them all.

"Before we begin I have a few words to announce regarding a new, or rather should I say an _old_ face at Hogwarts, pupil-wise. Over the Summer it came to light that Adrian Pucey had not in fact had his soul taken by a Dementor, but was in fact in a coma due to an undetected brain injury. We only became aware of this, however, when poor Mr Pucey suddenly awoke a few months ago, to the great shock of us all, not least to the young man himself."

There were whispers and exchanged looks of shock, joy and surprise down the table. McGonagall heard Pomfrey's name mentioned but tactfully chose to disregard it – for the moment.

"On point of awakening, however, he was unfortunately still unaware that both his parents died during the battle of Hogwarts. He has also appeared to have suffered some kind of memory and personality changes, though, perhaps fortuitously for Slytherin House he appears to have retained his Quidditch skills.

She cast a sideways glance at Slughorn, who raised his goblet with a half-smile.

"Due to his current fragility of state, Mr Pucey has taken rooms in the dungeons, and will remain with us at the castle for the time being. If you would be so kind as to make effort to talk to and include him in things, that would be greatly beneficial to him, I feel. Though perhaps I would urge caution against questioning him about his past at this point in time; his inability to recall the past properly is upsetting for him."

As McGonagall looked at the row of faces looking curiously up at her, she hoped, by Godric Gryffindor himself, that they would take her words in faith.

She also hoped, by Salazar, that Severus would figure out a more workable solution to all this.


	15. The Note

**CHAPTER 15 **

It was two whole weeks into a new Hogwarts term and Harry had spent the past few days at the school helping Hooch with her batch of new first years. On the second evening he found himself drawn to the dungeons again, silently hoping that McGonagall had talked some sense into the man, or that things had changed for the better since he had last visited.

Sadly, they had not.

The Gryffindor watched helplessly as Snape transfigured yet another book from his dwindling collection, this time into a glass of whiskey. It appeared the man was in the mood for both smoking and drinking today.

"You know, at this rate you won't have any books left to read," he observed dryly.

Snape stared intently at the liquid in the glass before tasting it. "Books have never given me anything but misery, and a thirst for more knowledge, leading to more misery."

"They gave you a good education."

"In dark magic."

"In defence against dark magic, and potions, and a job at the greatest wizarding school in Europe."

"Dumbledore gave that job to a snivelling repenter."

"He saw great strength and potential in you."

Snape merely scoffed and waved his hand in the air in a distinctly drunken manner. "Not strength, usefulness. Resilience? perhaps. Potential to be emotionally manipulated? Certainly."

Harry let out an exasperated sigh."Stop talking yourself down, it's helping no one, least of all yourself."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I can if I so wish. Why do you wish to spend time with me, Potter? I am hardly what most people term pleasurable company. Guilt, sense of Gyffindor responsibility...and that I say with no lack of irony."

"I spend time with you because I feel like it. I just...want to help."

Snape sneered. "Most charitable. You'll be suggesting I seek Muggle therapy next."

Harry shook his head, even though silently he had to agree it wouldn't be such a bad idea..."Look; there's this first year student, he's not so sure of the broom. Hooch tells me another kid jinxed him on his first flight, causing him to fall off. Now he refuses to come to her lessons and I've heard the other kids are having a field day teasing him about it. I'm not sure how to help him."

Snape merely frowned. "Some wizards just don't care much for flying, there was even a Minister for Magic in the last century who was so bloody hopeless he couldn't get a broom more than an inch off the ground. This boy will be fine when he learns to apparate."

Harry frowned. "Maybe...but I think he has more troubles than flying."

"I see," responded Snape darkly. "What house?"

"Slytherin," Harry responded, almost apologetically.

Harry thought he saw the smallest flicker of interest flit across the man's features, but after another mouthful of whiskey it had vanished. "Slughorn's in charge now, speak to him."

"I've already spoken to him, but all he wants to talk about are his new favourite students...and my mother." Harry sighed. "This boy...I think, well, I sense... he has troubles back at home, too."

Snape did not respond. Instead he glared angrily at the remains of the amber spirit in his glass, swirling it around before downing it in a gulp. Rising abruptly from his chair he clanked the glass down onto the mantelpiece and turned to sneer coldly down at the Gryffindor.

"So...what do you want me to do? Teach him a few dark curses so he can fight back more effectively?"

"No. You know I don't mean that," retorted the Gryffindor.

"Potter...I am in no mood for helping others right now, even the most moronic of dunderheads would notice that."

"Of course I've noticed. You are depressed, and you are drinking alcohol, which is a depressive, so the way you're acting makes perfect sense. I'm trying to give you something better to focus on."

"Your concern is most touching."

Harry chose to disregard the last comment. "So will you help tomorrow?"

There was a long pause wherein the elder wizard moved across the room to stare intently at his bookshelf, perhaps considering what kind of intoxicating liquid to transfigure the next glass into.

"Perhaps," he returned finally.

Harry stood, then, feeling helpless at the whole situation, but at the same time realising even a maybe response was the best thing he was going to get from the man today.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, ten a.m?" he offered, before opening the door.

Snape did not reply. As he looked back he saw that the man was now holding another book in his hands, but he had not transfigured it. Instead he had opened the volume, and there was some loose piece of parchment inside he was looking at.

"Is ten-"

"_Yes Potter, I heard you_," Was the dour reply.

"Well, then." Harry affirmed, stepping into the corridor.

"Wait-"

The Gryffindor sighed and turned to find Snape's eyes on him. Tired, bloodshot eyes, with grey shadows under them.

"Yes?"

Snape held out the piece of folded parchment that had been inside the book. "Take this. Read it."

Harry's curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

Snape did not reply to his question, merely gestured the note at him again. Advancing, Harry took the faded parchment from him and unfolded it.

It was not what he expected, but then again he had not known what to expect...

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**31 Spinner's End**  
**14th April, 1986.**

Dearest Severus,

I am writing to you to entreat that you forgive your father his past misdeeds, for he is dying, and in a most painful way. You know I do not have such a gift with brewing potions as you have, and cannot afford to buy any with our income. But you can. I am certain that your father would overlook the magical origin of them if they were of help or ease his suffering.

He breathes by use of an oxygen mask now, and can barely walk two steps without feeling breathless and ill. He cannot even make it to bed, and sleeps on a chair in the front room. There must be some draught or potion that could heal his lungs, would you know, Severus?

Please do not let him die without forgiveness. Maybe I should not have married a Muggle, but there is no use crying over a spoiled potion, no use at all. You are our only son, you are of his blood, and must think of your duty.

With love,

Mother.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Harry folded the parchment up again and looked grimly across at Snape, who was now slumped back in his chair by the fireplace, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. He looked utterly wretched.

"Did you ever respond?"

"What do you think, Potter?" Came the pained whisper.


	16. Repercussions

**Chapter 16 - Repercussions**

Saturday morning was a little fresh, typical of early Autumn. The first few leaves had already dropped from some trees, and a small whirlwind of them was currently dancing its way across one corner of the Quidditch pitch.

Harry was a little early. He stood holding his broom, hopping from foot to foot in his Quidditch robes, waiting patiently for the student, and a little more worriedly for his ex-professor. He was fairly sure the former would turn up, and fairly unsure the latter would not.

He found himself surprised, however, when the exact opposite of his expectations occurred.

Snape didn't look too great he had to admit; the man slouched by him, hands in robe pockets, face unshaven and pallid with great grey shadows under his eyes, but after the events of the past month his appearance outside was still something. He gave Harry a scowl. "I am beginning to entertain the notion this troubled student of yours is fictitious, a mere ruse to manipulate me into flying again."

Harry's brow creased in annoyance. "He's real all right, why would I make it up? I hoped you would trust me a bit more by now."

The two men glowered at one another. Another five minutes passed. A long V-shaped line of migrating geese flapped across the skies, then another. Their honking faded into the distance. The dead leaves on the pitch twirled still more.

"Face it Potter; this boy is obviously not interested in your remedial flying lessons."

Harry took off one of his gauntlets and rubbed his forehead. "But he said he was yesterday."

"If he is as troubled as you suspect him to be, today will seem a whole different world to yesterday."

Harry's mouth pressed into a grim line. "I see what you're saying."

They found the boy sitting quiet as a mouse, perched on a bench in the corner of the empty changing rooms. As Harry entered he looked up and gave a small smile, it wavered and faded when he saw the bigger, scarier-looking man behind him.

"Hi Felix, this is Adrian, he's come along to help today. He's not a student anymore but he used to be in Slytherin."

Felix inclined his head, but did not offer his hand. Snape eyed the boy; he was small for his age, scrawny, and tired looking. He had short, unkempt mousy-brown hair and freckles. _He also looked a little familiar..._

"What's your surname?"

"Avery," the student offered, albeit reluctantly.

_Of course_. He had seen the boy at one of the Deatheater meet and greet 'parties' a couple of years ago, some vague relation of the Avery he himself had gone to school with..._had been friends with_. Snape steadied his breathing; no wonder Potter had deigned to mention the boy's surname.

"So Felix," Harry was saying kindly, "how far have you got since our last chat?"

The boy chewed awkwardly at his lip. "Not very far, Mr Potter."

Harry propped his broom up against the wall and took a seat on the bench beside him. "What are you not so sure about?"

The boy scuffed the floor with his shoes. "Well...falling, mainly."

"Who jinxed you and caused you to fall off your broom?" Snape cut in abruptly, stepping forwards with a distinctly predatory expression.

The boy shrank back a little, a mistrustful frown gathering above his eyes. "No-one."

Harry sighed. "Felix, you should understand one thing here; it is never okay for one kid to pick on another just because of who they are, what family they came from, whether they are half-blood, pureblood or Muggle-born. Whatever reason it's for, it's still bullying. Neither I or Adrian are professors, we're still fresh out of Hogwarts actually, so if you can't tell a teacher, maybe you could tell one of us instead? If someone is targeting you for any of these reasons it's wrong, and it needs to be sorted out right now while you are still new in Hogwarts, otherwise it'll escalate and make your life even more of a misery."

The boy gave a great sigh. "Yeah, I know."

"So, who hexed your broom?" Said Snape.

"I can't say."

Snape's lip curled still further. "Can't say, or won't say?"

"No comment." The boy crossed his arms, causing Snape's eyes to narrow dangerously.

Harry found himself getting annoyed; he should have guessed anything that involved Snape and first year students would only end in intimidation! But then with his recent behaviour he'd assumed and hoped the man would have been a little bit more understanding...

Harry stood up sharply. "Adrian; can I have a word please? Outside?"

Snape turned his head, his mouth curling. "Can't you see I'm busy, Potter?"

"Yes I can. Do you always have to bully the hell out of every little kid you meet?"

"Only the ones who persist in withholding information," returned Snape coolly, straightening up to look Harry in the face.

Once they were outside Harry turned on Snape in frustration.

"Why did you have to do that? The kid's troubled, we need to help him not scare him to death!"

"I think you'll find I know considerably more about how Slytherins tick than you do, Potter," returned Snape smoothly. "Perhaps it's your turn to trust _me_ a little more?"

Harry huffed in indignation, turned smartly on his heel and strode back into the changing rooms, Snape closely behind.

Within ten minutes Snape had the young Slytherin mumbling a confession. The reason for the victimisation was indeed due to his surname evoking memory of the infamous Deatheater who had died in the final battle. The bullying was not confined to a few people either; it spanned across Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. One group of Gryffindors in particular had threatened him with serious repercussions if he sought help. The worst of it was that most teachers seemed to be turning a blind eye to the behaviour, presumably because they too, couldn't disregard the boy's familial connections.

As the two men returned to the castle, each looked grave and caught up in their own thoughts, Snape surprised Harry with his next, abrupt utterance.

"These past few weeks have been nothing but one horrendous hangover. I endeavour returning to sobriety."

The Gryffindor felt a wall of immense relief well up inside him. "I'm glad to hear that."

Snape's face took on a more determined look. "I also endeavour to speak to Minerva. The culture of intimidation and prejudice amongst the houses appears to be going unchecked; it's an extremely serious matter."

Harry nodded in grim agreement. "I'll bet it's happening to other kids as well as Avery."

"The worst of it is that this boy's half-decent; nothing like his Deatheater relative."

"I'm sure he is," returned Harry. "I can empathise; I'm nothing like my father and never knew the man, but I still got all the flak for his misbehaviour."

"The Gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children," muttered Snape quietly.

"I didn't know Potions Professors were Gods,"

Snape's lip curled and he shot the Gryffindor a glare that was almost of old. "Think yourself extremely fortunate they are not, Potter."

Harry feigned annoyance, but secretly, inside, he was delighted.

The two wizards parted ways in the entrance hall. As the younger, bespectacled one turned and walked off, a smile could be seen spreading across his lips, as he turned the corner he even began to whistle softly. The other young man slipped back to the dungeons with his blue eyes sharper and his head held somewhat higher than it had been earlier that morning. If any students, from first years to elder teenagers taking their NEWTS spotted them, they may have marked them out as two young men, one famous, one a nobody.

Of course, they would only be half right.

* * *

Harry raced up the ramshackle stairs at the Burrow, as he always did. "Ginny!"

The red haired young woman emerged from the bathroom.

Harry stopped in front of her beaming, and she hugged him. He hugged her back and she smiled. "What is it, love?"

Harry pulled back to look at her. "Snape says he's given up alcohol, he wants to help with a first year Slytherin who's being bullied too. Things are finally looking up for him, I hope."

"Oh, that's great," she replied quietly before looking away. Harry caught her forlorn expression and frowned.

"What's up?"

Ginny let out a big sigh. "Oh Harry...it's just, Snape this, Snape that...all you talk about these days is that man. Ron says the same. If I didn't know better I'd think you were..." she trailed off.

"Think I was what?" Harry searched her face. "What Ginny?"

Ginny picked absent-mindedly at a thread on her jumper and then took a step back. Confused, Harry loosed his arms from about her, letting them fall helplessly by his sides. Ginny turned away and crossed to the sink, her head down.

Harry took a step forward. "I don't understand. Love?"

Her reflection in the mirror showed him she was crying.


	17. Unbidden

**CHAPTER 17 - Unbidden**

Headmistress McGonagall peered vaguely down at her copy of _Transfiguration Today,_ unable to focus on any words. This was in part because she was troubled, and in part because she had entirely missed her usual, 'wee half-hour shuteye' due to an unscheduled visitor shortly after lunchtime. Although she had been somewhat surprised to receive this visitor, he had certainly not been unwelcome. It was heartening at least to see Severus clean-shaven and looking a little sharper than when she saw him last, however, the worrying news he had brought with him had more than offset any positives in her mind.

"Oh, goodness me," she exclaimed, casting the paper despondently onto the desk. "What the devil am I to do with these students warring amongst themselves? Even the inter-house kerfuffle of nineteen-seventy-eight pales in comparison to this!"

Behind her on a great portrait affixed to the wall, an elderly, brush-stroked wizard pulled solemnly at his moustache.

"They come not as single spies, but in battalions."

"Another quotation from Hamlet, Albus?" Said McGonagall impatiently.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "Naturally, Minerva. If you must know, last month I took the great liberty of requesting that books containing the complete works of Shakespeare, Dickens and Wilde were painted into the bookshelf behind me; I never quite managed to read all of Dickens while I was alive, you see. Our Mutual Friend whiles away the time between snoozes quite nicely, I find."

"Is that so? Well that explains the sudden tirade of it all." McGonagall pursed her lips. "Perhaps I should additionally request them to paint in some weighty tomes on the subject of Hogwarts inter-house relations, too, perhaps then your incessant quoting would be a little more on the helpful side?"

Dumbledore stilled, peering over his half-moon glasses. "There are indeed a few such tomes, but most are as biased as their authors. The others are so old as to have partially disintegrated; when I perused one last it gave me a violent sneezing fit. Near the end of my life I found wisdom and even solutions to life's great woes can sometimes be found in the most unassuming of texts. A Muggle telephone book, for example-"

"That's enough, Albus!" McGonagall shot him a look so sharp it could have sliced through a Mandrake root. "I've had enough of such wisdom for today. I feel a headache coming on."

"Very well, Minerva. The next time I see Severus I shall advise him in future never to disturb you between the hours of twelve p.m. and one p.m."

"Aye, you can gladly do that!"

"T'was a pity he refused to engage with me today, however, if he had allowed me to speak I would have urged him to exercise a level of caution around Mr Finch-Fletchley."

McGonagall frowned and turned around to peer at Dumbledore once again. "Why ever so?"

"Why? The boy hid Mr Pucey when his parents received the Dark Mark. They came to be good friends in that time, I believe. Phineas informed me this morning that the young man was spotted in a bar in Hogsmeade last night, imbibing more than a sensible level of Firewhiskey. And now, other portraits have just given me word that Mr Finch-Fletchley is now currently in the castle requesting a job reference from Pomona."

"Well... Severus has been in more than a few tight scrapes in the past, I am sure he can handle a slightly emotional Hufflepuff," replied McGonagall with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Dumbledore looked mysterious. "Most other Hufflepuffs, perhaps, but not this one, for reasons I won't divulge, but completely empathise with." He paused, his blue eyes betraying a small twinkle of amusement. "Hopefully this 'muscle memory' phenomenon is not too...extensive."

"Excuse me?" McGonagall seemed perplexed, but then something clicked. She stood in alarm, pocketing her wand. "Oh for goodness sakes Albus Dumbledore, this is NOT a matter for joking! Why the devil didn't you warn the man earlier?"

Dumbledore countered her glare with a tragic smile. "If the man forcefully insists he wants to hear no more advice from 'a dead man,' what can a dead man do? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some unashamedly trivial business with Aberforth to attend to..."

As the painted wizard disappeared off the confines of his frame McGonagall huffed a few spiteful words under her breath, one of which may have been _facetious_, and another _coot._

Turning, she leaned forward, and, transforming into a spectacle-marked tabby cat, bounded over the desk and slipped through the opening door.

McGonagall sought Severus in the dungeons, and was alarmed when she did not find him. She slipped quietly back up into the entrance hall, drawing a few stares from some of the students due to her still being in her feline form. She raised her nose, sniffed the air, then trotted quickly towards the front doors.

* * *

His revisiting the Headmistress's office earlier that day had been draining; being in the same room as Dumbledore's portrait considerably more so. Severus decided not to return to the dungeons for a while, choosing to walk around the grounds for a change. He took the path down past the lake, then looped back and headed toward the Herbology greenhouses.

"Adrian...?"

Snape stared and after a long moment recognised the curly-haired Hufflepuff who had stopped stock-still with shock in front of him. _Ah...the boy who had hidden Pucey before the battle. This could prove interesting..._

"Finch-Fletchley."

The young man let out a shuddering breath and took a step forward. "Oh my God, so it's true, you're awake, _you're really awake!_"

"Indeed." Snape replied tersely, looking him up and down with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Finch-Fletchley did not appear to have heard his last question. He raised shaking hands to his pale face. "But how...? Ernie said he saw a Dementor take your soul...?"

Snape shrugged, playing the part. "Ernie must have been mistaken. I was knocked out by a heavy blow to the head. I have no memory of what or who hit me. It has affected my memory of some things, I'll admit, but the outcome could have been far worse."

The Hufflepuff looked almost tearful then. "Oh," he whispered. "Oh. So...what do you remember?"

Snape paused. "I remember you, and that you hid me."

Finch-Fletchley smiled, clearly relieved. "Yes, I hid you, in return for your help. You've been...a great friend to me. Stupidly I've never told you that before, I should have, but I'll say it now."

Snape wasn't quite sure what to say to this; he wasn't really used to this level of sentiment being directed at him. The young man took another step closer, then another, until he was very decidedly in the zone the Slytherin would most certainly label as 'intimate personal space.' He was so close that Snape could smell the sharpness of his aftershave and feel the slight tickle of his breath on a cheek.

Suddenly, the Hufflepuff was hugging him, tightly, weeping in relief, laying his head on his shoulder, and it took all Snape's willpower not to flinch or shy away.

"Oh Ade...how I've missed you," whispered Justin.

It would be fair to say that Severus Snape felt a little shocked.

"Justin...I..." As Snape placed his hands on the sobbing man's sides with intention of gently but firmly pushing him away he felt a powerful heat rising in him from below. Nerve endings tingling, a wave of unbidden emotion rising up, swelling, threatening to consume everything.

Desire: _raw desire_. Something he had not felt in over twenty years. _And for a man._

Snape reeled.

Further around the path a tabby cat trotted into view, stopped abruptly and flattened its ears, before doubling back toward the castle.


	18. Somebody That I Used to Know

**CHAPTER 18 – Somebody That I Used to Know**

It had taken a whole week for him to unscramble his feelings and work things out in his head. Now all that was left was the fear and the worry. It seemed utterly ridiculous; when he'd stood up to the most infamous wizard of his time he'd felt less afraid than he did now.

Harry rang the doorbell, then stood back, glumly scuffing his feet.

"Hi Harry...oh...what's up?" Hermione caught the look on the man's face the moment she opened the door.

"I, um..." The Gryffindor's mouth began to twist. His friend quickly ushered him in.

The little London apartment was cream-walled, full of soft furnishings, and surprisingly clean and well ordered, but then it did belong to Hermione Granger. Harry suspected that Ron had had very little to do with the choice of decor...excepting perhaps the Stars of International Quidditch calendar hanging up on the kitchen wall.

Ron was sat in a red armchair in the living room, reading the back pages of a copy of the Daily Prophet. He gave Harry a sideways glance, but did not say anything.

"Hey Ron," Harry offered with a nod.

"Hi." Ron's eyes did not stray from the newspaper.

"Would either of you like a cup of tea?" Hermione called from the kitchen

"Oh, er, yes please. White, one sugar would be great."

"Ron?"

The red-head turned the page, rustling the paper loudly. "Nah."

Ron did not offer a scrap of conversation, just stared at the sports pages, a slight flush of annoyed colour suffusing his cheeks. Harry was dismayed to find he had very little to say to his old friend, or rather, very little that he felt he could discuss without feeling awkward, embarrassed, or ashamed. He felt like a stranger. On the paper, the animated replay photos of the Chudley Cannon's Seeker caught his snitch again and again, and the silence lengthened unbearably.

Chewing on his lip, Harry sighed resignedly and turned toward the kitchen. He pulled back a breakfast bar stool and sat, watching Hermione as she prepared the tea. She approached the brewing of the drink as methodically and as religiously as she did every potion. The teapot lid clinked down, the cream cups clacked neatly on matching saucers, milk was poured into a little white jug, just enough for two people. For a brief moment in time, while the tea brewed, the universe seemed in order.

Once the tea was poured, Hermione pulled out the other stool and the two old friends faced one another.

"How's Severus?"

Harry stared into his cup. "Haven't been to see him this week."

"Oh?" Hermione sounded surprised.

"Not since Ginny dumped me."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Harry hung his head and picked at his thumb. "Feel really shitty about it, but now I realise things haven't been right for ages, you know? "

"Well bloody hell; give the man a round of applause," came the belligerent response from the living room.

Hermione expression grew strained. "Have a bit of compassion, Ron."

"Why? He's upset my little sister and he's pissed me off, he doesn't deserve anything from me."

"I don't know, maybe I don't," replied Harry wearily, putting his head in his hands.

"_Maybe?_" Ron harrumphed loudly. "You bloody don't, mate!"

There was a sound of a newspaper being flung to the floor, Ron stomped into view, he reached into the hallway cupboard, pulling out a broom.

"Going out," he snapped, and with a swirl of robes and a slam of door, he was gone.

Harry pushed his teacup away, untouched. "I should be going." As he rose however Hermione reached for his arm.

"No, please stay, let's talk."

"What about?"

Hermione paused. "What you came here to talk about. Maybe?"

Harry felt his heart thudding in his chest. It was ridiculous...she was one of his oldest friends, couldn't he just say these few words, easily, like small talk? He took a steadying breath, but it didn't much help.

"Hermione...I think...I f-feel..." _Merlin's...he was stuttering..._

* * *

The door to the Headmistress's office slammed shut. A stern-looking witch dressed in emerald robes breezed across the room, plonked a pile of homework scrolls on her desk and peered sharply up at the portrait behind it.

"I have heard more rumours today, Albus, and must say I'm not best pleased with them, can you not speak with the man?"

Dumbledore looked up from his copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare. "And what would you have me say to him that you cannot adroitly express yourself, Minerva?"

The Headmistress looked angry and quite flustered. "Oh, you know perfectly well!"

Dumbledore raised a single, white eyebrow. "It is not so taboo these days, you know, infact the Muggles have come on leaps and bounds with their own laws in the past few decades, and we are not so far behind. In my youth it was 'the love that dare not speak its name.' I daresay it is now become almost fashionable to mention it in every discussion."

McGonagall looked abashed. "It is just something I myself do not feel comfortable broaching," she said testily. "And regardless of that, you use the word love far too flippantly: he is carrying on with a former student of his, a student I am sure he does not give one shred of a damn about...it's nothing short of shocking!" She shook her head. "It's so unlike Severus, too."

"It is neither like nor unlike Severus anymore," returned Dumbledore simply.

McGonagall tutted. "It is a shame we cannot switch him back into his body this very evening. Granger succeeded, after all. Perhaps I could begin researching into it. It is too cynical to assume it would be impossible."

"Not so impossible, but extremely unlikely," said Dumbledore soberly. "That is one of the setbacks when working with soul magic, Minerva. It shares many aspects with Chaos magic. No matter how competent and exacting the spell-caster, the cocktail of emotions, beliefs and whims of the subconscious will always sway the outcome, and often lead to an element of the unexpected. Miss Granger believes her success performing Corpus encambio was due to careful preparation alone. With her level of pragmatism I feel she will never really understand the other reasons why she succeeded."

"Poor Severus," whispered McGonagall.

"Oh I wouldn't pity him Minerva," said Dumbledore. "It rather suits the man, I feel; neither light nor dark, good or bad, neither loving nor unloving, not quite Gryffindor nor fully Slytherin... it seems rather fitting that Severus is additionally now neither straight or gay, but both."

"Both?" McGonagall echoed faintly.

"Yes, of course. A Chaser for both Quidditch teams, to coin a modern phrase," replied Dumbledore lightly. "Though this does not necessarily mean he'll have double the chance at success...Gelert had the most unfortunate taste in witches..."

Minerva shot the painting a confounded look.

* * *

In the silent dark of the bedroom, once the oblivious lust had been sated, the sweat had cooled, and Snape had lain there listening to the other man's thudding heartbeat steady itself once again, the world and all its familiar hell had rushed back in.

He lifted his body from where it had collapsed on the man's back and rolled over to stare up at the ceiling.

Finch-Fletchley gave a lazy groan, reached over to extract a silver case from his robes and withdrew a cigarette. "Sublime. Want one?"

Snape stared at the case a long moment. "No. No thank you."

"So you've finally given up, then?"

"Yes." Snape heard a finality in his own voice that he did not feel. It seemed nothing he felt or thought was set in stone these days. Not even his sexuality. He had fought these inconsistencies, once.

Justin snorted in amusement blowing smoke from his nostrils. He looked sideways, his eyes half-closed. "You're a better man than I, then."

Snape's mouth twisted. "That's the second time you have said that today."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"I beg to differ," The Slytherin muttered.

Justin's smile slipped into a look of pain. "Oh dear. What's worse than the guilt of cheating on someone?"

Snape did not reply.

"Ade?"

"Many things." Snape sat up, slid off the bed and began to dress. He could feel Justin's eyes on him, roving appreciatively over his bare skin. It made him feel extremely self-conscious and consequently, more irritable. He turned his back to him.

"Care to share?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. He pulled the buttons through the holes on his robe shirt with rather more force than was necessary. "Absolutely not."

"Oh." Justin stubbed out his cigarette. "You know, you're not half so much fun as I remember you being. You're more hurtful, too." he added reproachfully.

"People change, get over it."

"I'm trying...and struggling."

Snape shrugged on his robes and turned to face the Hufflepuff with a sneer.

"Well if you don't like it, you know where the door is, don't you?"


	19. In Reflection

**CHAPTER NINETEEN – In Reflection**

The Autumn advanced with frosts and morning mists laying thick in the valleys. Seasonal gales swept in one night to tear the remaining leaves from the trees, leaving them bare, save for the banks of Scots pines on the ridges behind the lake.

A lone figure in a deep green travelling cloak skulked along the water's edge, hands in pockets, his boots kicking through leaves and making footprints in the frosty grass. Finch-Fletchley hadn't been to see Snape in over a week; as the last great argument had ended with Justin in tears and a few unpleasant hexes being flung around, naturally he was assuming it was all over.

He wasn't quite sure what he felt about it coming to an end; the sex had been distracting, certainly, as had being desired. He hadn't really been on the receiving end of that level of admiration before, in all honesty. As for the sex... There had been a few encounters back in his spying days, but they had been down to peer pressure among the Deatheaters more than anything pleasurable, and Snape had been in no illusions that the witches he had been paired with on those evenings were not doing it because they found him attractive.

Not that he had given a damn about what they were thinking, anyway; Lily had been the only woman he had ever dreamed of laying with; after she had died he'd felt nothing but numbness.

Justin may have been irritating to converse with, but his intimacy had changed the game, helped him to reconnect.

To hope. _To need..._

Snape paused to peer down at his reflection in the still water. His body - he now referred to it as his – would very probably make him a little more appealing to women now._ And men, should he so desire it_, he reminded himself darkly.

Would Lily have gone with him if he had been a bit more attractive? After all, James Potter had been a swine, but he had had a bit more going for him physically... As cynical as this sounded, and no matter how many times he reminded himself that it was purely his obsession with the Dark Arts that caused his friend to reject him, Severus still couldn't omit the other factor from the equation. He recalled overhearing Lucius Malfoy joking once that a woman will always keep ugly men as friends and admirers, and only take better looking men as lovers, because ultimately no woman wishes to give birth to an ugly kid...

He scowled at allowing himself to wander down that negative chain of thought... He forced himself to think about Pucey instead; where was that damned Deatheater who had tortured and had been indirectly responsible for his death? The Gryffindor Trio's continuing investigation into the crimes of the ones held in Azkaban had dredged up nothing. Regardless of that, he just had a feeling that the man was still at large.

He noticed how darkly Pucey was scowling back at him in his reflection, and it brought with it a pang of guilt. He had been using the decent young man's body less than respectfully, he owed his spirit vengeance, at the very least...

Snape found himself struck with an idea then. He turned it over in his mind as he headed back to the castle.

* * *

Harry was mooching. He'd been doing that a lot these past few weeks. It had been enough to come out to an old friend and be spurned by another, so the news that had leaked out of Hogwarts had really floored him.

The Muggle coffee shop he was lounging in was just around the corner from the entrance to Diagon Alley, it was warm, had soft sofas and did a half-decent hot chocolate and heart-attack-sized slabs of coffee cake which he'd probably been eating far too much of lately, (not that he was caring much these days about when he ate or what he was eating.) He picked up the meagre-sized, amaretto biscuity-thing the waitress had perched on the saucer for him and crunched into it, staring vacantly out the window at the traffic outside.

Prior to this he had had no idea that what he had been feeling for Severus Snape was..._well to be frank he hadn't been thinking about it._ He couldn't even remember when his feelings began to change or what had happened. They just _had_. Spending time with the man, even during the dark days had kindled in him a purpose and a pleasure, the kind of which he couldn't remember getting out of anything or anyone else...not even Ginny, though he still thought her a wonderful soul, hopefully in time once she'd had time to reflect they would stay friends.

Harry's mouth twisted sadly. He hadn't mean to cause her such pain...though what could he help that he couldn't love her the way she wanted him to?

"I'm sure it's just a crush," Hermione had said, a little awkwardly in response to his confession. "I don't think it's anything unusual to get odd ones now and then. And, well...Snape's kind of erm, nicer looking than he used to be... _Don't tell Ron I said that_... Also, you know, I kind of had a little bit of a crush on Professor Lupin back in the third year..."

"_Lupin?_!"

"Yes," she'd hissed, embarrassedly, hiding her hand behind her mouth. "As I said, keep it quiet."

In his mind's eye Harry had idly imagined Ron sporting a reddish Lupin-like moustache and wondering if Hermione really secretly wanted Ron to grow facial hair...

Thanks to his friend's acceptance and easy humour, Harry had left feeling a little bit better about everything; until of course the rumours from Hogwarts reached his ears a few days later.

Once the shock had subsided, his jealousy, of course, had been instantly identifiable, powerful and painful. He'd tried to stifle his feelings by thinking on Hermione's words, that he was only having a stupid crush on the man's looks and the cool Quidditch talent he showed in the field that day... But however he tried to manipulate his thoughts and put it all to one side the jealousy still gnawed...

He placed his hand back in his pocket then and felt the edge of the letter that had been delivered to him by owl that morning. It was embossed with the mark of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the address unmistakably written in McGonagall's hand. On the one hand he was curious to know what she had to say to him. On the other hand he knew that whatever it was, it would very likely involve going back to the castle and facing up to everything he wanted best to avoid.

He'd managed to last all the way through 'til late afternoon before breaking the seal and unfolding it.

_Mr Potter_, it began. _I am writing to entreat that you return to Hogwarts to help mediate the ongoing inter-house relations, which have become increasingly truculent since mid-term. As a forward-thinking veteran of the battle, your help and experience would be most gratefully received._

_If, however, you are not currently at leisure to lend a hand, a recommendation of another suitable person to act as mediator for Gryffindor House would suffice. I am additionally seeking similar mediators for Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and unfortunately for Slytherin House also, as Mr Pucey is very regrettably not proving up to the task..._

Harry read the last sentence several times, a frown gathering above his eyes. Aside from the worrying news about the students, what of Snape? When he'd seen the man last he'd seemed quietly determined to do something about the Inter-House relations...

Letting out a great, weary sigh, Harry left the coffee shop, slipped down a deserted side street, and disapparated.


	20. Mediators and Matchmakers

**CHAPTER 20 – Mediators and Matchmakers**

Headmistress McGonagall was in her office, and seemingly close to her wit's end; a little tuft of her usually tightly-drawn back hair had escaped from the confines of its bun and was sticking wildly out to one side.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Potter," she began, sweeping up a mound of scrolls from her desk. "I'm afraid to say that things have turned rather more unpleasant with the school since you were here last."

Harry scanned the room before sitting down, noticing Dumbledore was absent from his frame.

"What's up?"

"_What isn't_..._?_ Last week, most regrettably, I had to expel two students from Slytherin House for causing what practically amounted to a midnight riot. No less than forty students were involved across the houses, most have been given detentions up 'til Christmas, though heaven knows if detentions will make any scrap of a difference!" She blustered. "Three arras and no less than six portraits were burned in the melee, worst of all young Hannah Rivers from Ravenclaw took a dark curse to the face which caused the loss of her right eye!"

Harry felt alarmed as well as uneasy. "Which students were expelled?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Felix Avery and Brandon Carrow."

"Merlin's beard..." muttered Harry darkly; he would bet money on Avery being a scapegoat... "This is what we feared...why isn't Snape helping?"

The Headmistress gave him an incredulous stare. "Honestly Potter, have you not heard?"

"Course I've heard!" said Harry, feeling his cheeks flush red. At his one-time Head of House's stern glare he corrected, "I er... I mean, yes, I've heard, Headmistress."

"Better," sniffed McGonagall. "Anyhow it is a shameful business, most shameful. Bare faced hypocrisy, also, if you count the years he spent walking the corridors helping to dissuade such reckless behaviour among the students!"

"Yeah..." The young man gave an awkward shrug, kicking at the chair leg with the back of his heel.

The Headmistress opened a scroll and repositioned her glasses more securely on her nose. "Now. Administration matters: In order to achieve some kind of balance I have additionally requested assistance from the following former students; Padma Patil for Ravenclaw, Zacharias Smith for Hufflepuff... and additionally, seeing as Severus appears to be otherwise engaged... I shall need to find another Slytherin war veteran interested in committing to the cause."

"Smith didn't take part in the battle so I've heard. As for a Slytherin...good luck with that," returned Harry dryly.

"Good luck with what, Harry?" Dumbledore had slipped quietly back into his frame and was now peering down at them both with a quizzical smile.

Harry's expression darkened a little, but he answered his old Headmaster's question. "Finding a Slytherin who's up for fair play and tolerance between the houses. You know...I even have my doubts whether Smith will co-operate either – he always went out of his way to make my life as difficult as possible back at school. Bloody idiot, he is!"

The Headmistress held her hands up in despair. "Merlin save us, Albus! How on earth are we to help these poor students if we cannot stop warring amongst ourselves?"

"Have faith Minerva," replied the portrait gently. "The corridors of Hogwarts have seen far worse through the years, both recently, and in the distant past."

McGonagall looked weary. "That truth doesn't make the bearing of it any easier. If only Severus were in his right mind, prowling the corridors as he was once wont to do, I'm sure the worst of it could have been avoided." She gave a bitter sigh. "But as they say, you never appreciate anything quite so keenly as when you lose it!"

Dumbledore's sharp eyes flicked back and forth between his successor and her former student, noticing the faint pink tinge appearing on the latter's cheeks.

"When was the last time you spoke to Severus, Harry?" He queried. The Gryffindor flushed, almost guiltily.

"Not recently," Harry replied, feeling McGonagall's stare fixing on him as well as the portrait's. He could feel the heat of embarrassment burning his cheeks like he was some stupid third year with a secret crush.

"Then when?"

Harry looked away to avoid both gazes. "What does it matter? I don't care about him anymore." He growled.

There was a short silence.

"I feel you do, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Infact, I feel you care much-"

"I do not," said the young man through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Harry. McGonagall blinked speechlessly at Dumbledore.

Harry looked back at them both, his expression angry, wounded. "If you're really so desperate to know, it's a stupid crush, it's just a stupid crush, okay?"

The old wizard's clear blue eyes pierced through him, as they had done in life. "Are you quite certain of that?"

The tension slipped out of Harry's body then, and he suddenly felt deflated and miserable. "No."

The portrait watched sadly as the young man slumped down, putting his head in his hands. "Harry, my boy. I know you harbour anger toward me still, for manipulating you in life, in times of war. I don't wish to do that anymore... When I was a young man myself, just seventeen, I became enamoured with another young wizard, an unpleasant young wizard who unhappily used my affection for him to stray me from the path of reason, until tragedy struck. It caused me to fear attachment, alas..."

"I'm not you," muttered Harry sullenly.

"Indeed you are not. You have strengths I never had...You have a great honesty in your heart, too."

"So what if I do? So what if I care?" Harry breathed, suddenly full of frustration again. "Snape's still fuck- he's... _shagging_ Finch-bloody Fletchley...!"

McGonagall's concerned expression altered into one of shock. "Mister Potter, refrain from using such language in this office if you please!"

"Well...he is..." Harry shot his former head of house a sulky look and stood, whirling round toward the door. His hand was already on the door handle by the time Dumbledore spoke.

"That is to the contrary; I believe. The two had an almighty row the weekend before last, and the Hufflepuff hasn't been seen on Hogwart's grounds since."

McGonagall watched as Harry faltered, comprehension dawning.

"Where...where is he now?" He whispered, peering at the two professors.

"I'm afraid I have no idea," Confessed the Headmistress crisply. "He's been wandering off school grounds from noon til night for the best part of a week...However, I daresay I have been more than relieved for the break...!"

"Oh?" Harry looked back up at the portrait of his old Headmaster. The man gave him a thoughtful nod.

Heart thudding in his chest once again, Harry turned and made his way down the staircase.

After the door had closed and the man's footsteps had died away, McGonagall turned towards her old colleague's portrait.

"Well I never in a month of Sundays_...Another one?_ Is this something to do with Granger's spell?"

"Harry? Oh no no, not at all," replied Dumbledore with a frown. "In fact I have been waiting for him to come out for several years now."

"What?"

"It is a sense only those of a certain persuasion possess, Minerva." He said wryly. "I believe the Muggles term it 'gaydar."

"Sounds like twaddle to me," was the brusque reply. "And as for Potter pursuing Severus...in the name of all things magical, is this sane?"

Dumbledore had another lemon drop to hand. He peered at it thoughtfully, as if it had some kind of divinatory properties held deep within its sugary coating. "Time will tell."

"Aye that it will..." said McGonagall coldly. "If those two are the cause of a second midnight riot Albus I shall hold you personally responsible, or as responsible as a painted likeness can be held to be!"

"I trust Harry," said Dumbledore simply.


	21. Ashes to Ashes

**CHAPTER 21 – Ashes to Ashes**

"Yes Potter, I fucked him. For the life of me though I cannot imagine why you should be so desperate to know the sordid details."

Harry looked on, pale-faced and aghast. "Did you even care for him?"

Snape threw him a sneer. "For your information, Potter, the word 'fucked' is not synonymous with the word 'care,' hence the reason I used it. Why should you give a damn, anyway?"

Harry flushed. "I...just..."

Snape stepped closer. "Just what?"

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly fearful the Slytherin would read his thoughts and mock him for them. _And why not_, he reasoned suddenly, _they were ridiculous for Merlin's sakes...! This was his ex-Potions professor twenty years his senior, his one-time harshest critic who never missed a single chance to belittle him. Why would he even care to look twice?_

Feeling utterly foolish, he stepped away and back, still avoiding the Slytherin's penetrating gaze. "Just nothing, forget it... I should be going."

As he turned, Snape swept quickly around him, and barred the door.

"No Potter, I won't just _'forget it,_' he hissed. You have been avoiding these dungeons for weeks, you've ceased with your incessant pestering regarding Quidditch. Now, inexplicably, you're back loitering outside my door again. Why are you here?"

"McGonagall wanted to see me about mediating and Inter-House relations," said Harry focusing intently on an interestingly grooved stone just to the left of the door.

Snape's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. "So, the Headmistress arranged for you to meet her outside the door to my private rooms? A rather odd place for a formal meeting, do you not think?"

"Okay, okay...!" Blurted Harry, unable to bear it any longer. "Okay...just...sit down and I'll tell you."

"Unfortunately, I don't feel the need to sit down at present, Potter, so why don't you confess here and now?"

The Gryffindor swore nervously under his breath. He didn't feel quite sane, his brain seemed to have jammed, and his stomach was doing somersaults...

"I just care...you know?" He confessed in the end, heart hammering. "I just wanted to say I cared."

"Cared about what?"

Harry set his jaw. "For you."

There was a moment's pause, in which Snape's mouth curled mockingly. "How very touching. Wouldn't a notecard have been more appropriate? Perhaps one with a pleasant little floral scene I could prop up on the mantlepiece?"

"No," the Gryffindor muttered. "I didn't mean it like that." Considering recent events, Harry had really hoped Snape would be a little more perceptive and quick to catch on to his meaning; unless of course he was being deliberately obtuse...?

"I meant...friends...like friends...you know?" he trailed off, feeling a little despondent, _cursing himself inside for even entertaining a scrap of hope..._

Snape was staring peculiarly at the Gryffindor, as if he had just sprouted wings or launched into speaking fluent Persian. When Harry finally turned his head to meet his eyes, however, Snape quickly looked away. He walked swiftly across to the fireplace and threw himself into his usual armchair.

"I have little faith in people who proclaim to care for me, Potter," he said quietly. "I suspect this can likely be attributed to past 'carers' really having nothing but their own interests and agendas at heart, and not mine."

Harry's thoughts leapt unavoidably to Dumbledore.

Snape bit the edge of his thumb, and peered up at him. "If_, _however, you do actually give a damn, then I figure you will not object to assisting me in the search for Pucey's torturer. Unlike you or your happy cohorts, I do not believe him to be dead, or locked away in Azkaban."

"Right, okay," said Harry, somewhat thrown. This had not quite been what he had meant, but still...he could see Snape confiding his plans to him was a step forward in the trust direction, at least.

The Slytherin rose from his chair and began to pace in agitation. "So; the details: I have been frequenting Diagon and Knockturn Alley of late, in several different guises, trying to pick up more information about a small but increasingly emboldened group of wizards who like to refer to themselves the PBA, or the Pure Blood Alliance. I hope you have heard of them?"

Harry nodded. "It sounds familiar."

"Well," continued Snape. "Late last night, I finally overheard a conversation detailing a possible meeting place above an empty shop. My intention is to attend a gathering, disguised, with an interest in joining-"

"But...Haven't you had enough of spying?" Harry interrupted in dismay.

"Yes Potter...enough for one lifetime, let alone two." replied Snape darkly. "However... spying very unfortunately happens to be one of the things I excel at."

Harry looked thoughtfully at him for a while. "Well...you could go ahead and infiltrate this place, be a spy, but I reckon there's probably a much quicker way to find this guy without having to do anything like that."

Snape raised a critical eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt that The Charge of the Potter Brigade will be an appropriate method for dealing with this situation. These people are not likely to be your typical Deatheater henchmen, they will be politicians, twisted wordsmiths. They are looking for funding and new ways to spread their ideology."

Harry paused a moment, but then decided it was worth explaining his idea anyway.

"Well...I have to say I have heard far more moronic plans from the mouth of a Gryffindor," remarked Snape grudgingly once the younger man had finished speaking. "The essence is workable, once I add some more subtle touches..."

Harry afforded himself a small smile. "Tomorrow then?"

* * *

As Severus sat alone that evening he found his thoughts lingering on the Gryffindor's visit. He'd sensed that something funny was going on with Potter for some time, but had been unable to put a finger on it. Normally he prided himself in being able to read the boy, but the behaviour had been so unprecedented.

The boy wanted to be friends. With him. _With the man responsible for his mother's..._

True to habits of old, Snape immediately began to occlude his thoughts, but the effort was only partially successful. Like other parts of his body, Pucey's brain could not seem to apply itself to such a level of concentration and restraint. He managed a ten second barricade, 'til the memory of Lily Potter forced its way in again. Letting out a snarl of frustration, Snape picked up the fireplace poker and hurled it at the wall.

As the poker rebounded and clanged deafeningly loudly back down on the flagstones, he flinched, and immediately regretted throwing it. Who the hell was he; a spoilt brat throwing a tantrum because he couldn't do something? A thug?

_His father?_

Letting out a ragged sigh, Snape stood and went to retrieve the poker from where it had rolled, and as he did, something else occurred to him; _did he even need Occlumency anymore?_

He stood, poker in hand, and made himself revisit the thought he had tried to occlude. The crushing realisation that Lily, Harry Potter's mother had died, his father had died, that it was down to the Prophecy he'd heard, his selfish bargaining and Dumbledore's manipulation into bringing the best possible outcome from it.

He let the concurrent memories run then, unhindered and unblocked, and saw his bitterness, unpleasantness, cruelty, pain, suffering and grief written in every one.

He also saw that the universe had not maliciously dealt him bad cards at birth, they were just cards, nothing more. He had had many choices beyond that, most of which he had been free to make. The world owed him nothing, Potter indeed owed him nothing, no pity, certainly no time...but the boy had been here at his door offering friendship, as his own mother had done as a child.

Harry Potter knew of his basest deeds, had suffered by them, had seen his worst memories, and yet.

_And yet._

Feeling distinctly sobered, Snape crossed the room to put the poker carefully back in its place by the fire. The fire, he noticed had now gone to ashes, save for a few orange embers.

"Ashes to ashes," he murmured.


	22. The Deceptive Duo

**CHAPTER 22 – The Deceptive Duo**

The trade was brisk in Diagon Alley on that particular late afternoon. The street was well on its way to recovery following the ravages of the war years, with only one or two shops left boarded up. Colourful, glittering displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients and other magical ephemera sat behind sparkling clean glass windows with fresh paint on their frames. Market stall holders shouted out their wares, owls hooted to each other in cages outside Eeylops. It was almost like it had been when Harry had first stepped foot in it.

Knockturn Alley, by contrast, was much the same as it ever was. Dark and dingy, its shops and inns seeming to hunch maliciously over the narrow street beneath. Shop and alehouse signs loomed above, and nooks and side alleys sat in deepest shadow. Harry peered cautiously out of the corner of his eye into each dark doorway as he passed, never relaxing the grip on his wand for a second.

The last time he had visited the alley Harry had been more naive, younger and otherwise distracted, so of course the one thing he hadn't noticed before were the other kinds of signs and symbols proliferating the place; an illuminated sign above one shop had the silhouette of a seductively reclining witch on it, another sign beckoned him with a finger as he passed, promising, 'erotic enchantments,' On street level he spotted a plain black door which had a pair of heavy iron, human-sized manacles serving as the door knocker.

As he passed one shop window full of human and animal skulls, he noted his own reflection in the glass. The Polyjuice had performed its work well, he looked just like the fair-haired, square-jawed Muggle Snape had procured a hair from. Amongst other things he was wearing several gold rings on his fingers, a fine ebony wand sheath, expensive-looking Dragonhide boots, and a side-buttoned, gold-braided, hussar-like grey doublet that gave a strong nod toward the militaristic style of dress preferred by students of the Durmstrang Institute. To anyone else here he would just seem like a pretty well-off wizarding stranger from abroad.

As was part of the plan, Snape was not disguised in any way, though he did take care to shave and smarten himself up a little. For this plan he needed to be nothing more than Adrian Pucey.

"This outfit's far too tight. Why do I have to be Hungarian, why can't I be German or Swiss or something?" Harry had complained before they had set out.

"Because, Potter, Pucey's mother was from a pureblood Hungarian family with connections to the dragon trade, so rich friends are plausible," Snape had replied smoothly. "And besides, you would utterly fail to convince anyone as a German wizard: all Hexenmeister have a better grasp of English grammar than you do."

"Whatever," Harry had groused.

After they had passed a third foreboding-looking alley, Snape came to a sudden halt outside a boarded-up shop covered with faded, torn posters. Next to the posters was a dull green door, its paint cracked and peeling. Snape shot a look back to Harry, who gave him a slight nod in response.

Snape glanced upwards at the window above the shop, from which a faint glow was emanating, took a hold of the brass knocker, and rapped three times.

After a few moments the door cracked upon slightly, revealing a man with a greyish face, and piercing, steel grey eyes. "Yes?" He hissed.

Snape lifted his chin with an air that reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy in his prouder, younger days. "We wish to see Madam Malefice."

The steel grey eyes blinked once. The door creaked open wider. "You are admitted."

They followed the grey-haired man up a narrow, winding flight of wooden steps to a small, dimly lit room. As they entered they saw a dour-looking woman dressed in black robes sitting behind a desk, atop which sat various divination tools, including a crystal ball. Snape gave a slight bow of his head which encouraged Harry to do the same.

The woman returned the gesture. "Gentlemen, what brings you to Madam Malefice?" she enquired.

"We have come here to express our interest in your husband's cause," said Snape.

"What are your names?"

"My name is Adrian Pucey. My associate here is András Sike; he is visiting from Hungary."

"My grandmother was Székely; Hungarian blood but raised on Romanian soil. I remember little about her, unfortunately," The Fortune Teller remarked. She scrutinised them a long moment, her gaze lingering a fraction longer on the gold rings adorning Harry's fingers.

"You are late for this meeting, it is almost over," she said finally. "But I think Aelius will see you."

Snape and Harry were lead through into a room out back with blacked out windows. A large table sat in the centre of the room, and torches illuminated those sat around it with a sickly yellow light. Harry could count no less than seven wizards and one witch, not many but certainly more bigoted individuals than he'd hoped to see in one room all at once. There were four or five empty chairs, also.

The man at the head of the table – presumably Aelius Malefice - stood to welcome them. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties, and had a small, sharp nose, long grizzled hair and beard, and a shrewd, beady-eyed expression. He wore a long, black robe with a golden clasp in the shape of an eagle claw. As he welcomed them and shook both Snape and Harry's hands, Harry could feel the others in the circle eyeing him closely. He felt distinctly unnerved.

They sat.

Malefice remained standing and addressed the room. "Now...Ongoing donations, as those more frequent attendees know, are vital to our cause if we are to make any headway in these times. These gestures can be forwarded to the address I provided earlier, or should you prefer, given privately at the end of this meeting, which is now imminent." His leaned forward on the table, gnarled hands grasping the edge, his eyes scanning the room. "Before we draw things to a close: Any questions?"

There were a few moments of awkward silence, 'til a sour-faced, brown-haired young man - who could not have been more than eighteen years old - spoke up. Harry's suspicions that the man had been in Slytherin, perhaps a year below him, were quickly confirmed.

"Weren't you a Chaser in Hogwart's Quidditch team once?" He enquired of Snape.

Snape gave a nod. "Indeed I was. Took the greatest of care to knock that bastard Potter off his broom whenever I could..." He gave a lazy smirk.

The young man snorted in amusement. "Good to hear it." He gestured toward Harry then. "Where does your blond friend hail from?"

Snape watched the entire tables' eyes turn back to Potter. The Gryffindor seemed to be playing the part pretty well. _Probably unsurprisingly_, he thought, the _Boy Saviour was well used to being stared at... _

"András Sike is a friend from my mother's side of the family, and he deeply sympathises with our cause. He is currently on a short visit from Hungary, so you'll have to forgive his less than remarkable grasp of English," he added coolly.

"Sorry, a leettle English only," enunciated Harry in what he hoped was a half-decent impression of a Hungarian accent. The only witch present in the room was staring at him, not in a piercing, Legilimens way, but just as if she believed not knowing much English was some kind of heinous crime. He responded to it by sitting up and staring back defiantly. She dropped her gaze.

The meeting came to a close then, much to their relief. Malefice gestured at them to remain behind, while the rest of the congregation stood and filtered out of the room, using a rear door which had previously been invisible.

When the room had emptied save for them, Malefice closed the door with a flick of his hand, and produced a quill and parchment from his robes.

"Gentlemen; As you well know these are prejudiced times; magicfolk are jaded by war, smarting from losses. The pureblooded amongst us have suffered the most; unnerved by unstable, megalomaniacal dark wizards hijacking and twisting our beliefs and values on the one side, frustrated by the Ministry's weak-kneed stance on bloodlines and lack of common sense on the other.

There are only three rules here, my friends; these rules are written upon this parchment. If you will be so kind as to read them, and in addition, provide a drop of blood alongside your signature...for administrative matters, as you should understand..."

At this Harry's eyes flicked up in alarm, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be acting like he understood few words of English. Beside him, however, Snape seemed unsurprised by what he'd last heard.

"Blood to confirm Pureblood status, perchance?" He enquired.

Malefice gave a slow nod, his sharp eyes scanning their faces. "That, and it will also allow creation of security spells surrounding the group. My wife and I have extended a great deal of trust to you already, as you will understand, but as I mentioned earlier, these are troubled times...we cannot be too careful..."

Snape gave him a stiff nod, and uncurled the scroll, tilting it so that Harry could read it, too. The first rule gave detail of a certain magical cipher which was to be used in all communications. The second rule covered income and donations, with a usual tithe of ten percent on all earned income to be paid to the Alliance. The third rule...

Harry's heart skipped a beat in horror. He felt a small trickle of sweat roll slowly down the back of his neck.

If Snape had been fazed by the third rule and request, he did not betray it; instead he straightened up and peered coolly across the table at Malefice. "These terms are agreeable, but as you can no doubt appreciate, Mr Malefice, my Hungarian friend will require this translating before he can sign his name beneath. I can provide a translation for him in a moment."

Malefice tilted his head. "That is fine."

"Before I do this however," Snape continued, "I feel now is the time to confess that Sike is, infact half-blood. Regardless, this young man's connections and wealth are as unquestionable as his desire to help our cause...I am hoping that perhaps the distasteful matter of blood status could be overlooked if you find other things on his plate more..._palatable_..."

Harry tried his best to pretend not to look like he understood what Snape was saying, but afforded himself a glance or two between the men as they communicated. Snape was leaning forward with his left hand flat atop the scroll, he had one eyebrow raised slightly, and his voice was smooth, convincing. The sly negotiator of old.

Malefice, by contrast, had started off looking stiff and defensive, until Snape had smiled a few times and mentioned the words 'wealth' and 'connections' in the same sentence. After this the man visibly relaxed, and had even began to smile back.

_Funny that_, thought Harry.

Malefice sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his throat and eyeing them somewhat greedily. "Mr Pucey, in Mr Sike's case, I feel that such a matter can most certainly be overlooked. In fact..." Malefice reached forward and pulled the scroll back toward him, pocketing it. "I feel we may safely overlook these administrative matters altogether."

Snape returned the man's smile. "Most acute of you, Mr Malefice. However, we would not wish to disrespect the rules of this circle. I feel an initial gesture would only be polite...

At this he turned toward Harry, "_András, egy tipp a barátunk..."_

_The agreed signal._ At this Harry nodded back and offered back his one learned Hungarian word, "i_gen_." He reached down to a pouch and brought out a velvet bag of coins, and dropped them down on the table with a weighty clunk. He looked intently toward Malefice then, "For my friends, the P.B.A," he enunciated, taking care to spread his lips into a wide smile.

"A small token, as you understand," added Snape, as Malefice opened the bag, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the one-hundred Galleons shining within.

Once Malefice had discerned that they were real, genuine coins, he was all gracious smiles. "This is much appreciated, Mr Sike. Mr Pucey. We dearly hope that you can make the gathering next week..."

After shaking the wizard's hand once more, they were ushered down a back stairs and through a door which opened out into a gloomy side alley.

Walking swiftly, Snape and Harry left Knockturn Alley and slipped back into the lighter bustle of Diagon Alley, mingling with the crowds.

"Well that wasn't quite as horrifying as I thought it would be," said Harry dryly, once they had apparated back to the edge of Hogwart's grounds. "No blood or semen taken, thank Merlin...!"

"Obviously I would have not allowed it to get that far..." said Snape. "Fortunately, money remains most powerful persuader of all..."

Harry frowned. "Makes me sick that I even had to waste money on appeasing such bigots and bastards."

"Better coins than bodily fluids, Potter...I would dread to imagine what the hell they plan to get up to with those..." replied the Slytherin darkly. "As consequence of the payment, we are free to relay invaluable information back to Aurors regarding whereabouts of this group and its members, giving them time to gather forces and set up a sting. Furthermore," he added, "we also have their cipher."

Harry looked both stunned and impressed. "You memorised it!?"

Snape looked vaguely amused. "I am flattered you believe me capable of such a thing...However..."

The Slytherin raised his left hand and turned it over; his entire palm was covered with lines of blue ink. As Harry peered more closely, he recognised the lines to be an imprint of the cipher spell on Malefice's scroll, but mirrored.

"My hands got a little clammy during the meeting...this proved somewhat useful when I noticed the dunderhead had unbelievably failed to use colourfast ink..."

Harry blinked, then a genuine smile spread across his face. He let out a short laugh. "Smart thinking!_"_

Snape allowed himself a small smirk at the young man's compliment. _Perhaps he could tolerate the Gryffindor a little better than he'd previously thought..._

"Before you share this information with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Potter..." he continued seriously. "We shall wait a day or two for rumours to circulate about the rich donor and his turncoat, parent-deserting, Muggle-loving Hufflepuff associate...I've a feeling that whoever he is, once he finds out 'I' escaped death, he will have a strong and sudden wish to finish the job. I will need to be extra vigilant from now on..._just like the good old days..._" He added sarcastically.

His words implied dark humour, though, as Harry noted, his expression showed precisely none.

"You want revenge on this man, don't you?" Observed Harry.

Snape's eyes narrowed and he gave a sharp nod. "Pucey deserves that much."

"Well then...if so, I promise I've got your back," the Gryffindor declared, determination flashing in his eyes like emerald fire.

Snape looked at him, at this young wizard standing by his side, being his friend. He did not respond; truth be told he wasn't sure what the hell to say.


	23. Turning the Page

**Chapter 23 – Turning the Page**

The following evening brought Harry to Hogwarts again. He was attending a meeting with McGonagall and Snape regarding the expelled Slytherins. Awfully, as he had suspected, the Headmistress had felt compelled to expel Felix Avery and Brandon Carrow simply to keep the peace. Harry was glad Severus had agreed to attend and speak in defence of the two students. Regardless of Snape's words, McGonagall had some misgivings on allowing the students to return, unless some kind of order and control could be assured and full-scale mutiny avoided... at this point Harry wasn't certain of the best way to deal with this. After all, House relations hadn't exactly been that great in his years at school, or indeed Snape's either.

Once the meeting was over Harry found himself mindlessly trailing Snape's footsteps. He knew what the man would likely say, but he was at a loose end tonight, Hermione and Ron were busy, Ginny was still not speaking to him...

After a corridor or two, it became clear the elder man was heading directly back to the dungeons. When Snape reached the top of the steps he stopped abruptly, but did not turn.

"Potter, care to explain why you are following me? If you failed to notice, the meeting ended when we left the office..."

Harry couldn't disguise the disappointment from his voice. "Er...I still have that memory of yours you know, if you want it back...?"

Snape shrugged. "I am hardly short of them. Keep it for all I care."

The man stepped down into the shadows of the dungeons, then, and as the sound of his footsteps began to die away, Harry felt a sharp pang of grief, a sense of loss that he couldn't quite comprehend.

After Snape had taken the right turn towards his private rooms he once again heard somebody behind him, this time whirling around to face his tracker. He was noticeably angry now.

"Are you deaf, or merely-"

Snape stopped abruptly mid-sentence; Potter had come to a halt far closer to him than he'd realised. The boy – _no, the man_ - looked somewhat different close to, older, leaner, the shadow of stubble on a more defined chin, the hopeful mouth, the striking, emerald green eyes, so like his mother's, and yet so alive with desire.

_Desire?_

"Potter," he breathed. "What are you-"

Snape did not get to finish his sentence.

As if caught by a sudden whirlwind, the dungeon torches all along the corridor flickered, guttered, and then went out.

* * *

The next morning belonged to silence.

Silence, but for the sound of another person, breathing softly in sleep beside him. A sound he had so rarely, if ever, heard in his life. It was strange.

Snape turned his head; the man was sleeping on his front, his bare, young back milky pale in the light. His upper right arm had heavy curse-scarring, grooves and pock marks that would likely remain with him for life. His face, free of the usual circular glasses of James Potter, wore an unbelievably peaceful expression.

_Peaceful...to be sleeping in the same bed with...?_

Once again, he cursed himself that he had been blind to the young man's intentions 'til he had been kissed... As with Finch-Fletchley, the contact had awoken desire. Even as he had grabbed the Gryffindor's wrists meaning to push him away, he knew he could not bring himself to.

So Potter had stayed.

What was this? Had Pucey a secret crush on the Boy Saviour in his life that his body had not forgotten, or was it simply that he was hereafter doomed to sleep with anyone who touched him? Snape quietly wished it was the latter... After all, Potter should not be his type...

_Men weren't your type a month ago_, a snide voice reminded him in his head. _You have resisted Pucey's other proclivities; Quidditch, nicotine...Even your own vice, alcohol. Why should this be any different?_

But it was not a vice. It was incomparable. If his bones, his blood, his brain and his memories were each allowed to speak in turn, they would all give the same answer.

Human need. If he denied that he craved affection and attention he would be a bare-faced liar.

_Thank Salazar that he was still human, still capable of feeling, especially after everything he had lived through..._

Snape closed his eyes again and listened to his guest's soft breathing. It was a strange, but not unwelcome sound.

But, after everything...why did Harry Potter want him? What could possibly be his reason?

He lay there, thinking disquieting thoughts.

* * *

Harry stretched, feeling cool sheets under his reaching hands and opened his eyes sleepily. Things were always blurred without glasses, but this morning there was a grey-orange glow in the room that was unusual, reminded him of-

_Hogwarts._

Harry blinked hard and found the fuzzy outline of a shorthaired young man peering warily back at him.

_Merlin's balls...he hadn't dreamed it..._

_He, and..._

And unlike his relationship with Ginny, he'd been the one underneath. It had been a new, but certainly not unpleasant experience. Eye-opening, game-changing, overwhelming...

"Morning Potter," said Snape quietly. Unlike the Gryffindor's, his body was concealed under the bedsheets save for one arm laying outside, his eyes were watchful blue beads, his face a little on the pale side, despite the low glow of the fire.

"Hey," Returned Harry softly, feeling his cheeks burning up with a heady mix of embarrassment, thrill and fear.

_Severus Snape._

An uncomfortably long silence followed.

"If this room became any quieter, I am sure we would be able to hear the distant sound of Remus Lupin turning in his grave." Offered Snape dryly.

Harry snorted, half amused and half appalled by the comment. "But he was always the nicest to you out of the Marauders..."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Nice is not exactly the word I would use... I feel 'spineless' would be a fairer judge on his contribution to situations. However, the man did at least grow more of a spine once he reached manhood..."

"Can we not talk about Remus?" Mumbled Harry, suddenly restless. He twisted an arm round to grab his glasses from the bedside table.

"Why not? Too upsetting?" Snape raised an eyebrow, his tone was unsympathetic.

Harry put his glasses on and shot Snape a hurt look, then sat up to peer round for his clothes. When he did, Snape noticed a magical tattoo of a phoenix on his upper left arm, of the same size as the scarring on his upper right. It was partly animated, moving its head down to preen occasionally, and ruffle its shimmering feathers.

"Where did you get the phoenix?"

Harry cast Snape a wary glance as he stepped into his trousers. "Tiberius Tattoos, a month after the battle. Oskar Tiberius did it himself. Wasn't cheap...but then good tattoos aren't."

Snape was curious. "Why did you want one like that?"

Harry gave an awkward shrug. "Partly in memory of Dumbledore, partly for dying and coming back to life. Partly to end one chapter of my life and enter another...oh, and like Ginny said, perhaps to balance out the curse scars on my other arm."

Snape peered at the ink bird, it was an extremely fine tattoo, and it seemed to be peering back at him with as much curiousity as he was. It did look uncannily like Fawkes...

Harry picked up his shirt from the floor and put it on. "So, did you get any tattoos...? Other than er, the dark mark of course..."

"No," replied the Slytherin flatly. "I found the first one more than enough for a lifetime."

"I don't think I'll get any more, either; this one's a one-off, too. Unless anything else life-threatening happens...hopefully bloody not..." Harry threw on his jumper and looked hurriedly for his shoes.

Snape observed him as he dressed. The young man was awkward, embarrassed, was mostly avoiding his gaze. The lingering doubt that had been lurking in the shadows of his mind all night advanced a little further forward.

"Going so soon, Potter?"

Harry's cheeks flushed again and he drew a hand through his mussed up hair. "Er, yeah, sorry, but I've... I just remembered Hermione wanted to meet me at lunchtime today."

Snape gave him an incredulous look, when Harry noted this, he reacted.

"I am telling the truth you know, I've really got to meet Hermione."

"I'm sure you do," was Snape's cool response. "After all, one must divide time equally between one's _friends_."

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"I...I'm sorry, but I have to go," He growled. "I'm also a bit nervous, too, you know. It's just that it was my first...my first..."

"Time, Potter?"

Harry reddened still more. "With a guy. Yeah..."

Snape paled, his mouth twisting with some indefinable emotion. "I see," he hissed quietly.

"Don't worry, I'll be back later, though," Harry offered with a shy smile. "Trust me, I promise."

The Slytherin opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to change his mind. His jaw snapped shut again.

Harry grabbed his outer robes. "So yeah...um, see you later...?"

After Snape's nod of acknowledgement, Harry headed for the door.

Once he heard the man leave the room, Snape's expression soured. He got out of bed, dressed quickly, pocketed his wand and moved into the main room, glaring long and hard at the bookcase before picking out a particular volume. Opening the cover revealed three vials full of a dark, muddy potion.

Pocketing one of the vials, he left his rooms and made his way swiftly along the corridor. As he joined the main dungeon corridor leading up to ground level, he encountered a whole crowd of third year students filing out at the end of a potions lesson. The stormy expression on his face was such that a few of them leapt out of his way in alarm, those who didn't see him felt themselves shoved aside.

"Mr Pucey looks pretty mad this morning," whispered one third year Hufflepuff girl to another.

"I think it's relationship issues, myself," nodded another sagely.

"Whatever it is," mused a third. "He's definitely got issues. Big ones. It's a shame really...if he smiled more he'd actually be quite good looking."

"Oh yeah, defo...IF he smiled more."

"If he smiled more AND took that pole out of his arse!"

The three girls giggled and went on their way to lunch.


	24. The Burly Man

**Chapter 24 – The Burly Man**

That afternoon the weather in London was dank and drizzly, typical for November. Harry made his way around to his friends' apartment. The front door was opened by Ron, of all people.

"Hey," Harry nodded.

"Alright," mumbled Ron.

"Is, er-"

"She's in, yes," Ron stood aside to let him in. As Harry passed Ron cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Listen, um, I'm...about Ginny. I was angry 'cause she's my sister...you know?"

Harry bit his lip. "I understand...don't think I don't feel crap too. I love Ginny loads...but...as a friend."

Ron sighed and hung his head. "Mate..." he whispered.

"Is that you, Harry?" Called Hermione from within.

Ron gestured for Harry to lead through, and he did. As they entered the living room Hermione smiled warmly at them both. Privately, Harry wondered if she'd hassled Ron to answer the door and say something. He hoped not... but perhaps she had...

After fetching a couple of Butterbeers from the fridge, Ron took his armchair and Harry the sofa. Hermione had the spell cabinet open and various potions ingredients lined up along the sideboard, several large, dusty tomes on the table. The back of the flat wall had been transfigured into a fireplace (the flat did not originally have one – Hermione preferred to disguise the place as a regular Muggle dwelling most days.) A small pewter cauldron was brewing on the hearth, giving out little wisps of silver smoke.

Harry took a sip of his Butterbeer. "What's brewing?"

"I'm restocking the medicine cabinet, really," explained Hermione. "Some of these elixirs have really gone up in price since the war, it makes sense to make them at home now."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Hermione stirred the cauldron three times anticlockwise. "And how are you, Harry?"

Harry swallowed another gulp of his beer then swirled the liquid around in the bottle, staring at it. "Fine. I think."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Which means...?"

Ron shuffled in his armchair like he suddenly wanted to be anywhere else but the living room.

Harry took another slow gulp of beer. "Have been better," he mumbled.

"What's up?" Hermione was frowning now.

"I erm..."

"I..." Harry gave a small snort of laughter, shaking his head. "I don't know...I don't know what to say really..."

"Well surely you should? Is it bad?" Hermione said, a little impatiently.

"Well...no...not really. But at the same time, it is."

"You shagged a bloke?" Ron said bluntly.

Harry's eyes shot to Ron, stunned. "How'd you-"

"I'm awkward, mate, not stupid!" He said gruffly. "Hermione said you told her you're gay, and Ginny was wondering months ago, anyway...so okay...I can deal. It's cool. I mean I'm straight as a Quidditch flagpole, me, obviously... Of course it's none of my business who you...er...scored with obviously, and...that's all I want to say," He added, red-faced.

Harry gave a relieved smile. "Thanks Ron...and yeah, you guessed right. I did score."

"So...are you still...seeing this guy?" Enquired Hermione more delicately, giving the cauldron another final, precise stir and a wave of her wand.

The smile on Harry's face withered. "I...I don't know. It's...a bit..."

"You like him, don't you?"

"Yeah...I do...but," Harry trailed off.

"Harry," Hermione said, crossing the room to sit beside him on the sofa. "No one needs an unhappy relationship. If it's no good you can walk away, you know?"

Harry sighed. "Well it's neither unhappy or happy. You don't understand...it was me who started it. Perhaps it was really stupid, perhaps I shouldn't have but if I didn't I would have always wondered what if, you know?"

"So, what if?" Hermione looked at him pointedly.

Harry gave a sideways glance at Ron, who was currently staring fixedly at the wall.

"Hermione; before I forget to tell you...I _opened the book_ Dumbledore warned me about opening. I opened the book and turned one of the pages."

Ron looked around with a perplexed frown then. Harry kept his eyes fixed on his witch friend; he watched her recall a past memory...comprehend...then look a little shocked...

"Oh...!" she exclaimed suddenly, putting a hand to her mouth as she stared at him.

"What book's this?" Said Ron, his gaze darting.

"A...Potions book," replied Harry carefully.

"What...?" Ron made a face. "Thought you couldn't stand Potions?"

"Well...this book's a bit different..."

"I...think I know the one you're on about," cut in Hermione. "It's been republished, hasn't it?"

Harry looked at her. "Yep. Earlier this year, infact...it's got a new cover design now...kind of shinier..."

Ron stared at the two of them with an odd expression. "Is it just me or have you two gone bloody mental?"

Hermione turned her face away from Ron, then, Harry could see she was trying her best to hide a smile. "Oh Ron," she managed finally.

"I really hope you two aren't taking the piss out of me," scowled the red head.

"No, Ron, honestly mate," returned Harry quickly. "It's just, I have been trying to go back over some potions so I'm looking at this book again...and...well, yeah, it's much harder than I thought..." he shrugged lamely.

Ron squinted at him.

"Tell you what, Harry," Said Hermione, "I've got a copy of the old text upstairs, what say we take a look at it. Or, even better go for a coffee somewhere and discuss it? And while we're at it we can chat some more about this man of yours, too, eh?"

"Yeah..." said Harry slowly. "That would be good. You want coffee? I think I know just the place..."

"Are you coming as well, Ron?" Hermione looked at her man questioningly.

Ron gave an unimpressed sniff. "Er, if the talk's going to be all potions and new boyfriends...no thanks..."

"Sure?"

"Yep, pretty sure." Ron gave a firm nod.

Hermione gave a smile. "Right. Fair enough. I'll just go get this book then Harry and you can lead the way!"

* * *

The pair were soon reclined on soft sofas in Harry's preferred coffee shop. A slice of toffee and walnut cake sat in front of Harry on the table, untouched. He peered at the people walking past outside.

A waitress approached with two full cups of coffee and placed them down on the table in front of them. Once she'd walked away, Hermione cast a muffliato spell around them and leaned in closer.

"Harry...what on earth is going on...? I thought Snape was having some fling with Justin Finch-Fletchley? Is he still-"

"No...he isn't."

"Thank God for that at least...!" She exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. "But still...I bet Professor McGonagall has been going spare..."

After a pause Harry began to confess all that had happened since she had last seen him, apart from his conversation with Dumbledore about his feelings for Snape...for some reason he wanted to keep that quiet. Once he'd finished, Hermione looked a little pale.

"Well..." She began, after a steadying sip of coffee. "Firstoff I can understand your being nervous about this; Merlin's beard, Harry! However, looking at it plainly I can see that – rightly or wrongly - you were the one who made the first move here. You followed him, you initiated the whole thing, right?"

"Well...yeah..."

"And...from what I can gather, this morning's conversation between you and Snape was awkward from the moment you woke up, so you got nervous and left in a hurry?"

Harry nodded.

"Well...!" She exclaimed. "If you want an honest opinion; if you acted that way around me I would be pretty darn annoyed!"

Harry looked guilty. "I know...I feel bad...But God, Hermione, I wasn't actually expecting him to respond..! I thought one kiss and he'd just hex me out of the dungeons arse first like he's always done...and that would be that, end of stupid crush. But no... he grabbed my arms and didn't let me go... " Harry flushed. "Long story short, I ended up staying...and this morning I freaked out. Now I don't know what to do..."

Hermione blinked. "Goodness me... Well... Obviously we know he's not the easiest person to get along with, but he's proved himself to be damned brave and loyal, and we know he has a heart somewhere, which is why I wanted to give him another chance. I think I get why you're...crushing on him..."

Harry grimaced. "Merlin...I hate that word..."

"Don't you think it is crush? It worries me that's all it is..."

Harry sighed, wistful, avoiding his friend's worried gaze. "I don't know any more Hermione. I mean...yeah nice body and that. But the first kiss; it just felt...right...better, you know? Nothing in my life has ever..." He looked back up at his friend, searching for a word. "Nothing has ever...come close to feeling that good before..."

The witch looked on with a concerned expression. "While I think it's great you've found all this out...you've got to think about this seriously, Harry... Don't forget for a minute the man behind this nice body is two decades older than you and has more baggage than a Hogwart's Express full of Boggarts..."

"Yeah...and if you recall I had half of that baggage chucked at me when I was a student..." said Harry wryly. "Wish it'd made more sense back then like it does now..."

Hermione didn't seem amused. "Another thing in relationships is that sometimes you just have to live and let live – if, say, the man never wants to play Quidditch again then you've just got to deal with that, too."

Harry gave a shrug. "Maybe he won't, maybe he will. He enjoyed himself for all of ten minutes when he was up there, it's an annoying shame he doesn't give a shit about what talent he's wasting. Perhaps he'll come round..."

Hermione sighed. "But he might never come round, might never use the talent...and that's just life Harry. There's no point idealising or having an unrealistic picture of someone in your head and getting annoyed if they don't live up to it. I mean...in your case...do you think Snape could ever respect and care for your own interests, and care for you in turn...say, in a romantic way?"

Harry snorted in amusement. "Romantic? Oh give me a break Hermione... Snape wouldn't recognise romantic if it sat up in his bloody cauldron...!"

"Well, that's probably because he's never had anything like that or had cause to behave in that way?" Hermione said defensively. "I don't think being romantic is a natural behaviour anyway, it's learned and picked up...and some are better at picking it up than others. I mean...look at Ron, bless him, I love the man, he helps me out with all kinds of things, but the only bunch of flowers I've ever had was when I reminded him it was my birthday - _twice_..." Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry mulled over her point. "I get what you're saying. But then...I don't know if I need all that kind of stuff...I like to be with someone, but I just found Ginny a bit too...clingy, to be honest..." He frowned and picked listlessly at the piece of cake.

There was a long pause wherein the pair sipped at their coffees glumly. "Ginny's a decent woman, I thought you two were settled, so did Ron..." Commented Hermione finally. "But I guess it just wasn't to be. You deserve someone who'll treat you just as well. The trouble with Snape is he has..."

"-baggage," cut in Harry, rolling his eyes. "But then, who hasn't got baggage?"

"Well," sniffed Hermione, "I like to hope I'm fairly baggage free..."

Harry picked up a sugar lump, plopped it in his coffee, and stirred it using magic. He didn't normally take sugar but it was a distraction. His gaze wandered out to the crowds in the street and the raindrops snaking down one corner of the window where the rain was leaking past the awning.

"Do you know, Hermione..." he began carefully, as if measuring every word. "The thing is...me and Snape... We both have what you're calling baggage. I mean...our childhoods weren't really a bed of roses for a start. Snape's father was like a nastier, alcoholic version of Uncle Vernon. I was shut under the stairs for hours, days... Snape was beaten as a little kid. While Snape made friends with my Mum when he was a kid, the Dursleys ensured I didn't have a single childhood friend at all, not 'til I met you and Ron on the train. And if I'd not met you...Merlin knows what could've happened to me..."

"You would have probably still made the right choices," reassured his friend. "You have an unshakeable belief in fairness, and are a good friend, Harry, you're a really decent man."

"Thanks. It's nothing short of a miracle, considering..."

"Well, then, thank goodness for miracles!" said Hermione.

"Then there's Dumbledore, that night in the horcrux cave..." Harry continued. "He was done for anyway, but that poison I was ordered to give him, I started what Snape finished...that night. We were both part of his final plan. I still get nightmares about Dumbledore screaming and pleading at me, you know Hermione...It was..." Harry shuddered looked at Hermione with a haunted expression.

"Terrible...I can imagine," said Hermione, her eyes misting with tears. She placed a hand on his. "You deserve someone decent and good, Harry, and I just hope you'll find that person, I'm just not that convinced that person is Severus Snape though...I'm sorry..."

She trailed off as she realised Harry was staring at something intently out of the coffee shop window. She craned her head round. "What can you see?"

"_Who_ can I see, you mean? That's Felix Avery out there, he's a first year Slytherin that got expelled a few weeks ago, for nothing, basically."

Hermione spotted the small boy on the other side of the street, he was standing outside a bank, near to the cash machines. He looked around eleven or twelve years of age.

"He seems to be waiting for someone, or something, and looks pretty nervous about it, too." Harry moved to a chair closer to the window to get a better look.

Just then a large, burly man appeared in the entrance of the bank, looked to his left, nodded at Felix. The boy looked back up at him, seeming to shy away a little. The man put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small push to start walking. They crossed the street then and walked down the road to the side of the coffee shop, presumably on their way to Diagon Alley.

"Who's that man, a relative of the boys?" Hermione wondered.

Harry frowned "I don't know...I've not seen him before..."

Just then a strikingly familiar face walked right past the coffee shop window; Harry jumped, turned away and swore, flushed in embarrassment as he recognised the features of the person he was kissing only the night before.

"Shit!"

"Merlin's beard...Snape!" Hissed Hermione. "Looks like he's heading in the direction of Diagon Alley, as well. Do you think he's been following them?"

Harry frowned. "I don't think so...well, he's not said anything if he has..."

"Don't you think we ought to follow him?"

Harry's heart was racing and his cheeks felt flushed. "I guess..." he said, doubtfully.

Hermione looked cross then. "Oh this is no time for silly embarrassment Harry; I really don't like the look of that boy's relative, and if Snape's trailing him it might be worth keeping close by, just in case!"

"He probably doesn't need my help," said Harry, looking down. "He never did before."

"Well...you could say he never needed my help in the Shrieking Shack eighteen months ago, but he got it..." Replied Hermione hotly. "You told the man you were his friend, so are you, or are you not?"

Harry shakily pushed his coffee cup to the centre of the table, then stood and looked his friend in the eye. He took a deep breath. "I am," he said.

"Good! Well, let's go then!"

The waitress looked up as the young couple left the shop, began to frown as they had not asked for the bill. She hurried up to the shop entrance to call after them, but just as she did she heard a clatter of coins. Turning, she saw a small pile of change had appeared on one of the saucers on the table.

Or had it been there before? Perhaps it was time she took her break...


	25. Friends Old and New

**Chapter 25 – Friends Old and New**

The fact Potter had promised he'd return was one thing on his mind.

Sex was the other.

The Gryffindor was not as good as Finch-Fletchley, skillwise, but...

_But what?_

Once again, Lucius Malfoy's words infused his thoughts, like poison through water. Snape narrowed his eyes and savagely ground the cigarette butt into the pavement with the heel of his boot. He'd sworn he'd not smoke again, but today was proving to be an exception.

There would very probably be more exceptions too, the way the day was going. Muggle London, of all places, on a rainy afternoon; greasy roads clogged with buses, pavements clogged with greasy people with sharp-jabbing brollies and moronically driven pushchairs... Merlin's balls...he didn't even know why he was here...

Well, he did; Gryffindor's Golden boy. Shock-haired, flare-tempered Mister Potter himself.

The young man in question was currently in a tete a tete with Granger in a coffee shop not twenty yards from where he was loitering.

The snap decision to put a trace on Potter was probably a mistake...though bedamned if he was going to regret doing it...

When Potter had been a boy, the only type of passion he had ever seen burning in his eyes was that of hatred, and as his bitter, guilt-ridden Professor he had done his level best to encourage it. The way the young man had looked at him last night in the corridor could not have been more different; in that moment Severus had found himself rendered speechless, transfixed anew by the sight of his emerald green eyes afire in the torchlight...

He had dreamed, once, that Lily had looked at him in that exact same way. Though of course that dream had never been reality; worse still the woman had been dead a year by then. Last night in the corridor the floor had fallen away from him. His mood fragile, his mind in tatters...His heart...

He had no idea what his heart was doing; truth be told he'd assumed it had shrivelled up from sheer grief decades ago.

His mouth twisted sourly. _Blasted dream. Blasted boy; of course Potter knew his secret now, he was playing with him, twisting the knife, he had to be...why would it ever be anything else?_

His gaze swept through the drizzle to the opposite side of the street then, and returned to the shape of a person that was oddly familiar, standing still on the pavement, as all others hurried past him. He blinked in surprise: _it was the expelled Slytherin; the boy, Avery._

Snape slipped back into a shop doorway. The young Avery was waiting outside a grand Muggle bank, all sandstone and iron railings. He was peering this way and that, and looking distinctly on-edge. Of course Snape could tell that the lad most probably wasn't waiting for his gran to pay in a giro...

Two red buses pulled up then, obscuring his view. Cursing to himself, Snape left the safety of the doorway and jostled his way past a bus queue. A rickshaw creaked by on the road, bell ringing loudly, then a rush of cars and black cabs, splashing and hissing through the puddles. When they had passed, Snape saw the boy had disappeared. His eyes darted.

_There._ Now he was with a large man in a dark trenchcoat, hood up, and they were crossing the road not ten feet from him. Snape turned his head away and hunched a little, pretending to be in the end of the bus queue. Luckily, the boy didn't spot him.

As they moved away, Snape turned and began to follow, keeping a safe distance. As the coffee shop came up on the right hand side, the man and boy made a turn right into a side street. When he approached the shop, he made sure to walk purposefully in a straight line, eyes forward. If Potter did or did not see him, well, he had an excuse now... but he was hardly going to act like he knew the man was there...

_The sign by the door read 'Pansy's Coffee Shop.' By bloody Salazar..._

The pair took a left down a narrower street after a short distance. This one Snape knew led directly toward Charing Cross Road. It certainly looked as if they were heading for Diagon Alley...

* * *

Hermione came to such an abrupt stop at the end of the street that Harry almost ran into her.

"They've stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. Snape's in a doorway about three shops up," she hissed, casting a glance back at him.

"Right," said Harry, straightening his glasses and removing his toe from the filthy black puddle he'd just splashed into.

"Now they've gone in. Snape's on the move again."

"What the bloody hell's he doing?" Muttered Harry.

"Well, honestly if you don't know, how would I...?" Hermione shrugged. At Harry's hurt look she blustered, "Well, whatever it is I'm sure we'll find out in a minute...that is if we don't lose him...!"

The Gryffindor pair slipped in to the pub a short while after Snape, and did not find him inside. He, like his quarry had slipped quickly out the back of the pub into Diagon Alley.

The wizarding alley wasn't actually so busy this afternoon, but the lessened footfall did not make finding three wizards any easier. They had already disappeared.

"Shit."

"I'm sure they aren't far," said Hermione briskly, scanning the cobbled street and every person on it.

It was then they heard a terrible shout from some way further up the alley.

"Oh God...!" said Harry. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he set off at a sprint.

* * *

The man and boy had stopped for a moment outside the entrance to Knockturn Alley, the man had then bent down to whisper a few words to the boy. Then the man had walked on...but the boy had hung back. Once the elder realised he was not being followed, he had turned, and Snape caught the first proper look at his face.

He paled.

In that same moment the man strode forward and with a snarl of "insolent brat!" He struck the boy to the ground with his hand.

Snape's insides coiled. He aimed a curse, but to his horror, the great hooded man had seen him, or known he was being followed somehow, and was half a second faster. Snape felt himself being blasted backwards in a flash of silver light. His wand flew out of his hand.

A hellish pain bloomed in his right thigh, and he couldn't help but let out an anguished howl. Dazed, he felt himself being pulled up roughly by his robes, shoved against a wall, and a wand being held to his throat.

"Well well well...I thought I left you for dead, boy..." The big man rasped. The deep-set, mocking eyes and receding brown hair were unmistakeable, as was the too-familiar evil grin.

_So HE was the Deatheater responsible...he should have guessed..._

"Impotence strikes many a man in middle age, Mathos," hissed Snape.

Mathos Avery snarled and jammed his wand even more firmly under Snape's chin. "Interested in exploring what that word means, poof?" He spat. "Shame that curse wasn't quite on target... I could show you another one that would make your cock rot and drop off, not painlessly neither. Pretty boy or not, no witch..._sorry...wizard_...would come near you again."

"Sorry to be a bore, but I'm already familiar with the Vietus curse," returned Snape with a twisted leer. "I happen to know the Dark Lord used it on you...not that you ever had much there to brag about, anyway..."

At this Avery looked shocked, then his face turned blood red with rage. He balled his other fist to let fly with a punch. It was at that point he heard a shout behind him, then everything happened at once.

Avery looked round at Potter, his fist still raised. Snape saw his chance and stamped as hard as he could on Avery's foot. The Deatheater let out a yowl of anguish and released the pressure on Snape's throat. Meanwhile, Potter had let fly with an Impediment curse, sending the big man flying flat on his back.

Snape dived to the ground, grabbed his wand, and pointed it at his old schoolfriend, and friend no more. "At last," he hissed. In a moment he and Harry had the man bound and petrified.

"Who is he?" Asked Harry, offering Snape a hand up, which he did not take.

Snape struggled to his feet by himself, wincing. "Mathos Avery, a Deatheater the Ministry would be very interested in speaking to. Additionally..._my_ torturer."

_And the beginning of my path into oblivion,_ he thought to himself.

Harry seemed to piece it all together and gave him a solemn nod. "What do you want to do with him?"

The Slytherin's lip curled. "Well... I happen to know that extreme genital torture would unfortunately be out of the question..."

Harry looked bewildered. "Er..."

Snape did not offer him an explanation. Instead, he took a small phial from his pocket and swallowed it. It seemed to give him a little more strength standing.

A small but curious crowd was beginning to gather around them now, and people were peering out of shop doors and windows. Harry heard someone running behind him and turned.

"Harry...!" Hermione approached, her eyes wide. "What happened?"

The Gryffindor nodded down toward the petrified man and smiled. "we finally have Pucey's torturer."

Hermione stared at the man's face, which was locked in an angry scowl by the spell. "Oh! You know...He does look kind of familiar..."

"He left Hogwarts in 1978." Offered Snape, but Hermione wasn't listening.

"I've read so much archive stuff though, it could be from anywhere..."

Snape looked irked. "Trust me girl, class of '78...Slytherin House...Wanted for ten murders, rape, countless tortures, two counts of poisoning...and the bloody rest..."

"Oh," Hermione finally heard him. "Sorry, I momentarily forgot..." She peered more closely. "...Are you hurt?"

"Nothing a few potions won't fix," returned Snape stiffly.

"But you're pale, and you're barely putting any weight on that leg...!"

"Enough of your ministrations, Granger!" He hissed back through gritted teeth. "I shall deal with it when I get back."

Harry looked away awkwardly, and spotted the young Avery then; Felix had taken shelter and was crouching in a doorway, and was looking at the scene with a mixture of fear and grief.

"Oh Merlin...What are we going to do with the lad?"

"Take him back to school, obviously," replied Snape. "Have a firm word with McGonagall...supervise the students a little more closely..."

"And this brute?" Harry kicked hard at Mathos' shin with the point of his boot. The Deatheater's eyes bulged.

Snape regarded the man on the ground as if he stank of hippogriff piss. "Yourself and Granger will have to take him in, Potter, obviously, I cannot do it."

Harry nodded. He cast an eye about him again and caught sight of a black robe decorated with a gold clasp in the shape of an eagle claw. But as soon as he had glimpsed it, it was lost in the crowd.

"We should get going," he said quietly to the others. "We have company...and it's not good company..."

Snape's eyes fixed on him, he raised an eyebrow. "Unsurprising, considering the scene. An additional thing to inform the Office about, when you go..."

The young Gryffindor knew what he was referring to. This little public scene, with Potter coming to the rescue of Pucey, then having a little chat with him, was obviously irreparably bad for their undercover work at the PBA. Then again, Malefice's group wasn't exactly illegal as it stood...they had not killed, maimed or broken any rules as far as they could see. Regardless, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would probably appreciate a few tip offs regarding certain of the members' whereabouts.

Even though their cover was blown, inwardly, Harry was actually glad he did not have to pretend to be András Sike again.

* * *

The three of them apparated a short while later, Harry and Hermione taking the petrified Death Eater with them. They went directly to the Ministery, and before long they had their first leads to the PBA, and Mathos Avery had taken his first, long overdue step toward being thrown into Azkaban.

Snape, meanwhile, had taken it upon himself to transport the young Avery back to Hogwarts. On the way the boy surprisingly poured his heart out to him. He found out that the boy's parents had both fallen sick and he had been sent to live with his grandmother. Mathos had also been in hiding there, nephew of the grandmother as he was, she couldn't bear to give him up. Since he had been expelled, the boy had found himself at the beck and call of the man ever since...

After Snape had left the boy with Minerva he turned wearily to his dungeon rooms. His leg was sending out burning hot stabs of fire with every step. He felt distinctly feverish...

When he got in, he examined his thigh – the skin on top was horribly shrivelled and the veins were dark grey. He took two potions, then murmured a charm repeatedly until the skin began to tighten and smooth out again. It would likely leave a scar – Flitwick could probably do a better job but he was hardly bothering him today.

_Shame Potter didn't have Lily's skills with charms..._

Snape paused, then sneered for allowing himself to think such a thing. Potter was not here now, after all...

He had been a fool... led on by false green eyes...

Ending the charm, Snape took himself off to his bedroom; he felt drained and the fever had not abated much at all, even following the maximum dosages. He felt jittery, upset and exhausted. It was likely sleep that was needed now; especially as last night had contained so little of it.

He lay down atop the covers and stared at the ceiling. One hour. Two hours.

Sleep did not come to him.

Neither did Potter.


	26. Back to Black

**Chapter 26 - Back to Black**

Harry and Hermione found themselves delayed by endless red tape at the Ministry. It was a whole four hours later and early evening when they finally emerged from the law offices. Hermione took herself off straight away, as Ron would be wondering what the hell had happened to her. Before she did though, she urged Harry to check in on Snape, because the man really hadn't looked well back in Diagon Alley.

"I know, I know...I was going to...!" Said Harry irritably. "I promised him I'd be back, you know I like to keep my promises."

They parted; Harry apparated to Hogwarts.

His breath plumed in the chill night air as he approached the castle. The day's rain had departed overhead, leaving a cloudless sky full of stars. As he looked up, he wondered, if indeed the stars, along with all the people he had loved, and who had loved him, were watching down. Sirius, Remus, his father, his mother...

The dungeons, of course, were far removed from all twinkling starlight, and had their familiar, dank, black gloom. They always made him feel uneasy, and tonight was no exception.

What would happen tonight? Would Snape want to see him again...?

He knocked on the dark wood of the door. Usually, he would hear Snape's voice, curtly enquiring who it was, instead, Harry heard footsteps swiftly approaching inside.

The door wrenched open. "Better late than never," was the sour greeting. But something wasn't quite right with it...

Harry jumped back and let out a cry of alarm.

Lank, black hair hanging lifelessly down to his shoulders...

Hooked nose...

Cold, black eyes, glittering... Old. Potion's Master. Sneering.

It was as if he had stepped back in time and was a student again.

Harry's legs threatened to give out on him, so he put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"W-wh- How. How did, how did you- Have you found a solution to...?"

Snape's old familiar sneer stole across his old, familiar face. "No, I haven't Potter. This..._nostalgia_ is merely the effects of Polyjuice Potion. _Like what you see_?"

Harry wasn't at all sure if he did... Furthermore...Could it be an imposter? "T-tell me about my tattoo..." He stammered at the man warily, his hand slowly moving to his wand pocket.

Snape's mouth curled. "How very cautious of you...Well, boy...you have a phoenix, a lifelike Fawkes on your upper arm, symbolic of many things, as you told me earlier on today...The flesh on your opposite, upper arm is heavily scarred from a dark curse. At around 2am this morning we fucked, I ended up on top. A first for me...I reluctantly admit..." His eyes narrowed. "Need I go on?"

"No...that's...enough..." Harry replied awkwardly. It was all true. As the Slytherin had been talking, he'd noticed the man's forehead was beaded with sweat. His pupils, too were oddly constricted.

Suddenly, and without warning, the Slytherin lunged forward and grabbed Harry by the front of his robes. "Pleasantries over: so, do come in...make yourself comfortable, Potter...!"

Harry found himself being hauled through the elder wizard's door. He did not resist, partly because he was still too shocked to, and partly because he urgently needed to find out what was going on. Once Snape let go of him, he warily retreated until he was all but pressing his back against the nearest wall. It was an unsettling situation; had the curse made the man unwell, was it illness...was he in danger?

He swallowed nervously as the Slytherin's eyes gleamed back at him in the candlelit gloom. "Uh...I don't think you're very well; you look feverish, your eyes are...perhaps we should get Madame-"

"No Potter!" Snape hissed. "I've a fever, true, but that can wait 'til we have had our little discussion...You may think that I am too quick in leaping toward cynicism and sarcasm, but usually it has not been without just cause. Life has never been a bed of roses..."

"Whose life has?" Shrugged Harry helplessly.

"Whose life indeed?" He advanced with a malicious smile, pinning the younger man to the wall between his hands. "So...tell me Potter, could you fuck...no..._make love_ to me the same way you did last night? Kiss your misanthropic old Potions Professor as passionately as you did that rake, Pucey?"

Harry's jaw dropped, but he was voiceless.

Well...COULD YOU POTTER?!" Snape spat at him, baring yellowed teeth.

Harry turned his cheek and cringed, physically trembling in shock. Snape was acting deranged. He was easily as menacing and as nasty as he ever was in his teaching past, not that Harry Potter himself had ever felt so frightened of him as he did now.

When Harry gave him no immediate response, Snape looked down, and in that brief moment the Slytherin felt the faintest flicker of...what...disappointment?

Dear old Lucius Malfoy was right...it seemed..._But of course he was. As much as polite society denied it, looks mattered._

Snape began to laugh bitterly to himself at the sheer stupidity of it all, of the impossible banality of Severus and Harry...

As soon as the laughter jarred out, it was abruptly cut short when the Gryffindor cupped the Slytherin's face in trembling hands, lifted his chin and pressed his lips firmly to his.

Harry held the kiss for a few seconds. As he pulled away to look at the man's face, his green eyes met black; to Harry, Snape's eyes did not seem like dark tunnels anymore. In one moment he saw astonishment, emotion, desire, disbelief...

Pain...

Snape suddenly began to tremble. Without warning his cursed leg seemed to give out from under him, and Harry only just managed to grab his arms to stop him from collapsing on the floor.

Snape twisted feebly, the fight to remain standing all of a sudden too much to bear. He gave an embarrassed grimace. "Leave me Potter..."

Instead Harry gripped him more tightly, stubbornly. "No I won't...you need to see Pomfrey, right now. You're burning up! You're running a fever!"

The sick man gave a quiet hiss. "She won't... Slughorn...Vietus Curse..."

Harry was confused. "I've never heard of Vietus-"

"Slug...horn...knows..." Snape's teeth began to chatter uncontrollably as he spoke, his entire body was tremoring now.

Harry swore under his breath. "Your fireplace, is there Floo Powder for it?"

"Snape?"

Harry looked down again; the man's head had slumped.

A stab of panic ran through him. _Oh Gods no..._

After a few moments more of shaking him and calling his name, he realised it wasn't going to bring him round. Laying the man carefully on his side with his arm propping up his head, Harry rushed to the fireplace and had a frenzied look in the various pots and receptacles along the mantlepiece until he turned up one with contents that looked like Floo Powder. He flung the entire potful at the fire.

It was, thankfully, the right stuff.

"Slughorn's Office!"

When he popped his head through the fire into the Potion Master's study the old man nigh on jumped a foot in the air.

"By the heavens! Mister Potter!"

When Harry then went back through the Floo, and returned dragging through the ashen and lifeless body of Severus Snape - in his original bodily form - the poor old Slytherin was shocked and startled all over again.

Of course, things would have been far simpler if Slughorn had been in on the Corpus Encambio secret, but he was not. Instead, Harry had to quickly explain that the appearance was down to Polyjuice, and that he had no clue why the man was disguising himself as Snape... As soon as he mentioned that Pucey had been hit by a Vietus Curse earlier on in the day Slughorn went deathly pale.

"Why, I would have thought Mr Pucey would have been aware that you cannot take Polyjuice alongside remedies for such a curse!" He cried. "He's good as poisoned himself!"

After checking the activity of Snape's pupils, and shaking his head at what he found, Slughorn shot straight over to his store cupboard as fast as his legs would carry him.

Harry's heart felt like it was being crushed. He kept staring down at Snape, willing him to wake, move, groan, anything... He raked a distressed hand through his hair and wrung his hands miserably. "What does the Vietus Curse do?" He asked finally, not sure if he even wanted to hear the answer.

"Vietus Curse Harry? Oh I say, it's a nasty one..." Mumbled the professor while he rummaged through his supplies. "It was popular with Death Eaters in the first Wizarding War though now rarely cast... It shrivels skin and flesh and if left a while cuts off blood flow...I have seen a few terribly unpleasant cases in my time..." He paused to mop his brow a little with a handkerchief. "Adrian could have lost his leg if he had waited any longer than a few hours...why he's taken Polyjuice soon afterward though is beyond me...He can't have been in his right mind."

Harry felt dread. He turned away, his mouth twisting. "Yeah, I know...it's crazy of him..."

Of course Harry had heavy suspicions as to why Snape had taken Polyjuice; he'd been testing him, testing him on the very doubts that had been playing on his own mind since the start of his 'crush.'

_Could he love his old Potions Professor? Did he dare?_

"Here," Slughorn emerged from the cupboard with two small flasks in his hands, one flask much smaller than the other, and very dusty. "It's a few years old but should work just fine as a Polyjuice inhibitor. This other one is a much condensed version of the remedy Adrian likely consumed earlier."

Harry held out a hand. "I'll do it."

Slughorn eyed him curiously before handing the potions over. He watched as the young Gryffindor propped Pucey's head up on his knees, and gently tipped both liquids down his throat. He watched as the Polyjuice inhibitor swiftly took effect, transforming the unconscious man back into his youthful form. That done, Harry removed his glasses to wipe at his eyes, his hand trembling.

The Potion's Master frowned. "Are you okay, my boy?"

Harry Potter looked round, face pale and ghostly. "I don't know," He whispered.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey's look of concern more than matched the Professor's own as she looked upon the immobile form of Adrian Pucey once more. "He will need to rest while the leg recuperates. I suggest two, three days in the hospital wing."

"Perhaps more if the leg does not regain strength immediately, we have to be sure the muscles and veins are properly healed, rather than risk complications," replied Slughorn.

The two lapsed into silence a moment as they looked down the ward toward the sleeping patient, and the bedraggled man slumped beside him.

"Harry hasn't left his side these past few hours," Slughorn said quietly. "By Salazar, it's a most peculiar situation indeed."

Pomfrey's lips pursed. "Indeed it is... it is almost end of visiting hours, I do hope he doesn't expect me to provide a bed for him overnight, or a meal!"

After Slughorn left, and visiting hours ended, Pomfrey found herself letting out a quiet sigh and allowing Harry to stay beyond the time. After another hour she found herself needing to remind the man that he had not eaten, drank, nor moved in some hours. An hour after that she found herself reminding him once again.

The second time she did, Harry responded with a grimace and a shake of his head. "I don't want to leave him, I can't. I left him alone earlier and he got himself into this mess...it's my fault..."

Pomfrey tsked. "Don't be silly, Potter; Severus is a grown man, the decisions he makes are his own, the right ones as much as the wrong ones. As well as the mistakes. He's extremely fortunate you found him when you did, that's all I can say!"

Harry looked down, chewing his lip. "It's a bit more complicated than that..."

Pomfrey crossed her arms. "Care to explain?"

The young man's cheeks flushed. "No. Sorry."

There was an awkward silence. The Mediwitch noticed that Harry was actually physically trembling from exhaustion. Her expression softened.

"If you wish to stay, use the adjacent bed, if you must. And for Merlin's sakes Potter, have something to eat and drink, before you get some rest! I'll not be far away. The sleeping potion I gave Severus will wear off tomorrow morning, so you may as well sleep too."

Reluctantly, finally, Harry prised himself away from Severus's side. He visited the bathroom, mechanically ate a few morsels of a sandwich, drank some water, then returned to lie down on the adjacent bed. He remained awake, watching and waiting patiently 'til Pomfrey had retired to her office and the hospital ward lights had been dimmed. As soon as they did, as soon as he felt he was not being watched, he made his move.

He stood by Severus's bed and took the man's hand, gently interlacing his fingers with his own. He gripped the limp hand firmly, in hope, but it did not respond or grip back. The Gryffindor's hopeful look shattered. His last ounce of resolve gone, he sank exhaustedly down to the floor on his knees, pressed his forehead into the side of the mattress and let out a strange, whimpering cry.

Harry wept as silently as he could, his body convulsing with muffled sobs. After some time the grief ebbed. Drying his face on his sleeve, he raised his head and looked upon the man's sleeping form with reddened eyes.

"Just so you know...I'm not interested in Pucey," he whispered. "You can take Polyjuice every day, if you want, if it will convince you, but it won't make a damned bit of difference to me. I want you, Severus Snape. Whether you want me back...well, that's up to you."

_There, he had said it._

After a few moments more, Harry stood, shakingly, and turned back to collapse on his bed.


	27. Fire and Ice

**Chapter 27 – Fire and Ice**

Snape awoke to the distinctive taste of Valerian Root in his mouth. An ingredient from a potion he knew far too well; sleeping draught.

He shifted his position slightly, a move which caused his right leg to begin throbbing with a dull pain. He felt groggy. He cracked open one eye, noticed the familiar vaulted ceiling and a pale Winter sunrise streaming from great, arched windows, etched in frost.

The blasted hospital wing. _Again._

"Oh, marvellous," he drawled.

"Severus?"

The whisper came from his right. Bedsprings creaked and he heard footsteps approach. Squinting, Severus cracked his other eye open and looked up into the face looming near him. A face pale and drawn from a thousand worries, and two great green eyes shining with...hope...fear...and...

Snape closed his eyes and groaned softly as memories of the previous evening came flooding back. The fever, the doubt...the shock... Everything was all intermingled and dreamlike. Or nightmarish, depending on which way you looked at it. None of it seemed quite real.

"How are you feeling?" Harry's voice sounded tentative, fragile.

Severus curled his lip. "Like I've been sat on by a troll."

The younger man gave a small huff of amusement. "That good eh?"

The Slytherin cracked his eyes open again. "What the hell are you doing here Potter?"

"Watching over you," Replied the Gryffindor, simply.

"That's Pomfrey's job."

Harry set his jaw. "And mine."

Snape peered at the scruffy young man looking down at him, his hair defiantly awry, his T-shirt crumpled and twisted. It was very clear he'd slept in the Hospital Wing overnight.

"And who's watching over you, Potter? You look utterly wretched."

Harry dragged a hand through his up-standing hair and let out a shuddering sigh. "Sorry...I...you, you just gave me a bit of a scare, that's all. Slughorn told me if I'd not found you, you could have died. I should have come earlier, left Hermione to deal with the paperwork at the Ministry..."

Severus did not reply. His gaze wandered over to the window, his expression unreadable. If he didn't know Potter, he would never have believed for a second that this was the boy who destroyed horcruxes, battled Deatheaters and brought the Dark Lord down. Right at this moment he looked far too fragile to be capable of any of that.

"I should not have required any help, last night." He muttered.

Harry shrugged. "I got there. I promised I'd return, so I did."

"The fact is, I did not expect you to come back, so getting myself into such dire straits...Nothing short of moronic..." He trailed off, glowering darkly at the floor.

"I got it, though."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Got what?"

"Got what you were doing...I mean...I...well...I felt..." Harry struggled.

"Eloquent as ever," observed Snape dryly.

Harry scowled. "Well, I don't hear you trying to talk about your emotions much, it's hardly the easiest thing in the world, you know."

"Then don't talk about them."

"But that's not very healthy...!"

"Enough Potter..." Snape scowled, suddenly seeming to lose what patience he had. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sever-"

"It's _Adrian._.." Cut in Snape, throwing the man a scathing glare. "Adrian Pucey. _Get used to it._"

Harry's mouth hung open. "But we-"

"What exactly do you want from me, boy?" Snape said defensively. "More memories, is that it?"

Harry looked hurt. "No..."

Snape let out a hiss. "Don't play games!"

"I'm not! Seriously...why the hell would I?"

"Well, you tell me!"

Harry paled and clenched and unclenched his fists, before turning away and walking to the window. Snape glowered at him. The Gryffindor was taking several breaths as if to steel himself.

"Firstly - I can't believe," he began slowly, before taking another steadying breath. "I just cannot...believe...that you have such a low opinion of me as to think I would mess you around just to get memories of my Mum. Why the hell would I do that when I could just ask you questions?"

"People can be extremely manipulative..." Said the Slytherin, narrowing his eyes.

"But then..." Harry continued, ignoring him. "I've also been thinking about the Polyjuice last night and why you would do such a thing. You know what I concluded? Two things – firstly - that you were testing me, guaging my reaction..."

"Very good..." Muttered Snape grudgingly, but Harry had still not finished –

"-Secondly – I'm really starting to wonder if you have such a rubbish opinion of yourself that you can't believe anyone could possibly care about you, and if they did it would only be because of Pucey's influence, because he's the conventional, sporty guy. You put up massive walls so no one can get near you...you've given up...you don't even want to try..."

"Bravo." Snape said softly.

As the silence stretched and the Slytherin said no more, Harry looked on, stunned. "So...that's it? You're not even going to defend yourself?"

"Defend what exactly?" Returned Snape, his voice emotionless, flat. "For once your reading is astute. _Congratulations..._"

"B-but...you're better than this!" Exclaimed Harry. "You're really smart and knowledgeable and skilled at potions, and spells, and defence... you have pride in all these things...or...had pride in them...you fought me for years...helped me..." He trailed off.

"You still haven't answered my original question," said Snape.

Harry looked perplexed.

The Slytherin looked at him with penetrating eyes. "What do you want from me, Potter?"

Harry flushed, looking away. Snape watched his jaw clench and his eyes screw shut.

"Aren't you lonely?" He whispered, finally.

Snape snorted. "What kind of answer is that?"

Harry looked pained. He turned quickly, his eyes shining with tears, threatening to fall. "Who's playing games here? What do you want me to say after what happened the other night? What do you want from me?! I thought you were a skilled Legilimens, so skilled but somehow you can't read this?!"

Before Snape could respond to his outburst, Harry turned and ran toward the Hospital Wing doors and bashed them open. Snape watched them as they swang shut.

Then, one door was pushed open again. Minerva McGonagall stood there, a look of surprise and anger on her face. She rounded on Snape accusingly.

"Severus, what on earth has just happened here?! Mr Potter almost knocked me flying down the corridor!"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Minerva," returned Snape stiffly.

"I shall if circumstances warrant it!" She barked back. "The man looked terrible - what in Godric's name did you say to him?!"

"By all means be an idiot, side with your favourite Gryffindor, no questions asked!" Snape sneered. "How's this blasted school ever going to stop in-fighting with someone like you at the top?"

The Headmistress's glasses flashed furiously. "Damn your youthful appearance, Severus! These days I have had to keep reminding myself that you are not a student, and that your greatly irresponsible behaviour is sadly not eligible for a detention, much less expulsion!"

Her last word seemed to echo ominously around the room. Snape looked as if he had just been slapped.

McGonagall readjusted the blue tartan shawl that had slipped down from the shoulder of her robes and sniffed disdainfully. "I came here to see how you were, Severus, as a concerned former colleague and friend. It seems I should not have bothered!"

The sound of a throat clearing sounded from the other side of the room. Snape and Minerva turned their heads to see Madame Pomfrey standing at the open door of her office quarters, still in her dressing gown.

"Doors banging, raised voices! What on earth is going on?!" She shrilled. "Good Gods, who would ever know that a Hospital Wing was a place of healing?"

"Many apologies Poppy; I was just asking Severus that question myself," replied McGonagall, shooting a filthy look back at the man. Snape returned one back of his own.

Pomfrey peered quizzically at the empty bed adjacent to her disgruntled and glowering patient. "Where's Mr Potter?"

"Gone," Muttered Snape.

A look of concern swept across the Mediwitch's face. "Gone where?"

Snape made a sharp gesture toward the door.

Pomfrey frowned. "But he wouldn't leave your side last night! I had to force him to eat something for fear he'd make himself unwell! He seemed extremely concerned for you. Distraught, I would say. Are you not good friends now?"

McGonagall's gaze snapped from Snape to Pomfrey, then back again. Snape avoided both their eyes.

"No...not exactly," Snape said.

The Headmistress looked more closely at her old colleague; he was holding himself stiffly, his eyes distant and face ashen, as if he were holding back some unspoken fear or horror.

"I'm sorry I snapped, Severus," She said quietly. "It seems I have misjudged the situation."

Snape looked pained then, guilty almost. "Misjudged, but not entirely. I may have been a little...insensitive..."

McGonagall pursed her lips and gave a stiff nod. "Very well," She said, accepting his rare apology. She was very familiar of Severus Snape's proclivity for rubbing salt in wounds, often he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Until some time afterwards...

"Which way did Potter go?"

His question and sudden intensity of look surprised her. "Why...outside probably. Or home, perhaps? He was heading in the direction of the Entrance Hall, at least..."

"Right." Snape threw back the sheets and attempted to move his leg, grimacing and hissing as he did so.

Pomfrey moved forward. "Oh no you don't Severus, that leg's got to rest for a few days, Slughorn said so!"

He shot her an angry look. "Well do you want to check on him?"

Pomfrey crossed her arms. "I wouldn't advise you bear weight on it at this moment, unless you wish to have a pronounced limp for the rest of your life?"

"Then I'll fly, damn it!" growled Snape.

"That would be preferable!"

"I'd rather prefer you didn't flit within the school grounds anymore, Severus," Added the Headmistress reproachfully. "A lot of the students are still very distraught from the battle, I should think they would rather not be reminded of Deatheaters."

The man scowled. "Fine...I'll take a bloody broom then!"

At this he noticed McGonagall's mouth twitch upwards, ever so slightly; he knew she had just notched a mark, scored one to herself for forcing him to use a broom... _He'd get her back for this..._

Snape snatched the painkilling draught proffered by Pomfrey, stood awkwardly on his good leg only, and transfigured his robes. Next he summoned his broom. It was some twenty seconds before the thing whooshed through the doors and flew into his hands.

Snape examined it with narrowed eyes; _it was not his broom_ – his was old, dark oak, with spiky, musty bristles, a half-knackered hand-me-down from his mother. This broom's handle was a rich gloss black with silver stirrups. 'Nimbus 2001, A.J.P' was engraved in silvery writing along the tip.

Snape swore under his breath, ground his teeth, but mounted the thing anyway.

Pomfrey raised a hand. "One last thing Severus-"

There was a sudden whoosh and whirl of robes and the Hospital Wing's doors bashed open and shut again. Pomfrey was left startled and blinking angrily amongst a sea of scattered medical papers.

"Boys!" She shrilled. "What to do with them?"

"What indeed?" sighed McGonagall exasperatedly, readjusting her shawl once again.

* * *

Flying a broomstick was practically effortless now. Severus had never actually been on such a high-spec racing broom in his life but he found himself needing to make no adjustments to ride it; his body seemed perfectly balanced as he took every corner. The thrill of it couldn't help but put him in a better mood. In the back of his mind he could hear his own voice of years gone past, bellowing at a crowd of students, giving them a month's detention for broom racing down these very same corridors...

_How things changed._

As he rounded into the Entrance Hall, he came to an abrupt halt. Nearly Headless Nick was there, holding the Bloody Baron at swordpoint. The two ghosts were circling one another warily.

"Take that back, cur!" Exclaimed the ghost of Gryffindor House with unusual courage.

"That I shall not!" Retorted the Baron in his hoarse voice, drawing his own longsword."Thou hast offended me and mine own. Such insult shall not be borne!"

Nearly Headless Nick lunged with his rapier, sticking the Baron right through his ghostly white belly. The Baron gave an angry groan, and his chains rattled loudly as he swung his own sword about, knocking the Gryffindor ghost's almost-severed head off his shoulders so it hung uselessly down at his neck.

Nick waved his spectral rapier about furiously and pulled his head back into place with his other hand. "Well really!" He spluttered.

As he flew swiftly over their heads towards the front doors, Snape blinked, in spite of himself. In all his years at Hogwarts he had never seen the House ghosts quarrel like this. _The damned place was falling apart..._

Once outside he did not need to go very far to find Potter. The man was walking fast across the frosty grounds, towards the Beech tree and the frozen lake. He was still in his T shirt, despite the bitter cold and minus temperatures, his hands stuffed deep in his trouser pockets. Drawing in a deep breath of frozen air, Snape gained some height, his robes whipping behind him.

* * *

Harry's fingers ached from the bitter cold, even stuffed in his pockets as they were, but he didn't much care; they weren't yet as numb as he felt inside.

This was an impossible, cruel crush... Hermione was right... He'd clear his head for a while, then go back to London, have a Butterbeer with Ron...or a Firewhiskey...whatever, and try as best as he could to forget...

As he neared the Beech tree, he heard a ripple of robes behind him. His heart leapt into his mouth, his first thought being of Dementors he made a grab for his wand as he span round -

Before he could turn fully, Harry roared as he found himself being snatched off his feet and launched into the air – someone had a tight grip on his wand arm – he looked up to find a dark haired man looking down at him.

"Get up here and transfigure yourself a robe, before you bloody freeze!"

Harry hung there instead staring agog. "What the fuck Snape?!"

"You wanted me to fly a damn broom, Potter...here I am. Hope you're happy!"

Harry blinked incredulously a few more times, then grabbed for his wand in his back pocket, firing himself up onto the back of the broomstick. Snape pulled forward slightly and Harry couldn't help flushing as he wrapped his arms around the man's waist. Snape was surprisingly warm; he was radiating heat. In his grief, Harry hadn't realised quite how frozen he was getting. He peered down at the broom's silver stirrups, recognising them instantly.

"Nimbus 2001?"

"It was Pucey's...bloody thing came to me when I summoned my other broom," grumbled the elder man.

"Bloody brilliant broom still, so I've heard," commented Harry.

"Goes particularly well around school corridors...so I've noticed," returned Snape dryly.

It was Harry's turn to blink again. "What?!"

Snape gave a small smirk. "Hold on for grim death, Potter, unless of course you want a dip in the frozen lake..."

Harry had seconds to crouch down before Snape sent the broom off at a eye-watering pace, whipping past the outer branches of the old Beech, then sharply down, down, until they were barely skimming over the surface of the ice. Faster and faster...

"S-H-I-T!" Yelled Harry in a mixture of glee and terror, gripping Snape's waist even more tightly.

Up front, Snape grinned. He couldn't help it.


	28. Amor Vincit Omnia

**Chapter 28 – Amor vincit omnia**

As the ecstatic thrill of the broom ride flooded through his nerves, a sudden realisation came to Snape; this buzz he got from flying was nothing to do with Pucey at all. From what he could recall from the past, Adrian Pucey had never flown this recklessly, he had been a solid, dependable Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team, but not a risk-taker. As a student also Pucey had been safe, cautious, attentive, rarely attracting attention to himself.

It was he who was pushing the limits; he who was the adrenaline junkie.

Decades of subsisting on grief, silent dread, and coping with the never-abating risk of being exposed as Dumbledore's spy had rewired his character. Bereft of his job and his spying duties now, he was untaxed, dulled, and his mind had slipped into a state of torpor. Loss of serious duty had also allowed in old, melancholic, creeping thoughts he'd never dared access in recent years past.

Snape gripped the broomstick harder and clenched his jaw. _He couldn't continue on with this living death; he was alive, damn it!_

Answering his thoughts, he scooped the handle of the speeding broom upwards and abruptly sent the stick into a tight double corkscrew. He felt Potter's arms tighten still more around his waist. His stomach dipped, went weightless then slammed up into his ribcage for the first roll, and then all over again for the second. Wrestling the broom back into control, Snape finally let go of his breath, his heart thudding in his ears. Behind him, his passenger roared and whooped loudly; _he clearly wasn't the only adrenaline junkie here._

Despite the chill air rushing past them, Severus couldn't deny that Potter's grip was causing a irrevocable heat to rise from low in his body, flood his senses and flush his cheeks. His heart, too, was quickening in pace. It was all arousing him..._but then he'd known that it would._

Squinting through watering eyes, Snape eyed the great stone monolith at the shores of the lake and without really thinking too much, aimed for it. He slowed the broom and touched down onto a drift of frozen leaves and bracken. Behind him, Potter took in a breath, but he did not let go, instead the boy loosed one arm then moved around to stand beside him, still grasping his waist with one hand, supporting him. Snape, silently grateful, did not return the gesture, but he did not pull away either.

Together they looked silently upon Dumbledore's white tomb, pale in the Winter sunlight. The top was inscribed with the old Headmaster of Hogwarts' full name, but the side facing the lake bore only one simple Latin inscription engraved in the white marble. _Amor vincit omnia_. Beyond them, great lines of bare, damp-blackened trunks stood stiffly to attention like voiceless, solemn mourners.

After a while Snape glanced to the side; Harry too, looked back at him. There was fresh grief as well as defiance visible upon his face.

"Dumbledore meant a lot to me," Said Harry quietly, wiping a tear from his eye. "But everything I did was controlled, manipulated, if not by him, then by Voldemort getting to me inside my head. Now that's all over I can finally do what I want."

"And what do you want, Potter?" Snape whispered.

The Slytherin felt his heart quicken and his adrenaline fire up still more as the Gryffindor turned his face toward him and lifted his chin, his eyes shining determinedly.

"You, Severus. Not Pucey; _Definitely you_."

Snape quivered as a mix of stunned pleasure and desire filled his body... But then as soon as it did, guilt dealt him a stern blow. His mouth twisted in anguish.

"Potter...I can't..." He whispered brokenly. "Your eyes...they..."

Realisation washed over the Gryffindor's face. "Oh," was all he said, and his green eyes turned unbearably sad. Snape tore his gaze from them and gave a bitter sigh, his breath pluming out in the frozen air.

The undeniable attraction he now felt for Potter did not seem logical to him...It had to be an extension of his unrequited love... His feelings for Lily should not be an excuse to take advantage of her son... _He was a twisted man, but not that twisted..._

Harry looked sullen. "So you were thinking of my Mum when we...?"

Snape paused. "Yes."

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked at the frozen leaves. "Oh well.." he shrugged after a short time. "I guess it's not the worst thing in the world...we could still have fun!"

"I do not wish to use you, Potter," said Snape lowly, narrowing his eyes a little.

Harry's expression was in equal parts incredulity and irritation. "So, what, you'd rather be a martyr?"

Snape grit his teeth. "It's not about..."

"You'd rather shut everyone out and wallow-"

"Don't go there, Potter!" Snape hissed.

Harry was not deterred. Instead, he leaned forward, a curious gleam in his eye. "My Mum was your friend, but she was never interested in you in that way, it was crap, but that's life...! Now fate - or whatever - has brought us here, now the one with the green eyes has feelings for you... How do you know that this is not fate? What if this is meant to be?"

Severus sneered. "Fate? Don't be moronic! Fate is cruel, not kind Potter...surely you know that?"

But as he said it he felt unease and doubt stirring deep in his mind. He had loved Lily, hungered for her for as long as he could remember, but things had never quite clicked, had never been right. Even when she had come to speak to him in death she had come to him as a friend, with her husband in tow keeping an eye on her... Even beyond the grave, even though she had made her peace with him, it was abundantly clear Lily Potter would never, ever be his.

The fire in her son's eyes, was all for him however; it could be...if he would just reach out...

His heart skipped a beat as he realised that emerald fire was gazing passionately at him right at that moment, and at very close quarters. Without hesitation this time, Potter placed his hands on his shoulders and kissed him hard.

Severus felt a sting of intense pleasure course through his every nerve. Shivering, he opened his lips and gave in to him. Closing his eyes, he felt electric tingles as Potter began to trace a hand from his shoulders, up his neck and to the back of his head, holding it as he deepened the kiss. He felt the faint scratch of stubble from the twenty year old's chin. His nostrils were filled entirely with the faint musk of his soap, and of the sharp tang of masculine sweat.

With his eyes closed he had nothing to remind him of Lily; none of what he could feel or smell remotely reminded him of Lily...yet he was enjoying this wizard's touch...He wanted him, this impudent young man...and so much so he could feel his cock beginning to harden...

The kiss ended then as Potter abruptly broke away. Snape opened his eyes to see a knowing smirk twisting the Gryffindor's lips.

"Did that feel like cruel fate to you?"

* * *

Harry had kept his eyes open during the kiss; and he had seen _everything_. He had seen the pain and the doubt vanish, the softening of his expression as he closed his eyes. He had felt him relax and shiver under his touch.

And now, now he had broken away from the kiss, Severus Snape stood there, breath frosting, his sky-blue eyes shining, staring at him with an intensity like never before. Beyond him, the frozen lake shimmered in the still-rising sun and the castle was but a ethereal haze in the distance.

"Well?" Harry whispered, prompting the silence.

"You know what your biggest problem is, Potter?" Breathed the Slytherin.

Harry felt a twinge of doubt and his smirk disappeared. "What?"

His waver of uncertainty seemed to rouse the man from his trance, and without warning, Snape grabbed him by the sides of his arms and pushed him backwards, stumbling, until he felt his backside collide with something hard and cold. _Dumbledore's tomb...!_ Snape continued to tilt him until his spine was arching over the stone, then suddenly, he stopped. Harry swallowed, barely daring to breathe as the Slytherin pressed his body against his and brought his face in closer, so close that their noses almost touched. Now his face held a wild, almost feral expression.

"Your problem is you talk _too damned much_..."

Harry breathed a ragged sigh of relief and closed his eyes, but before he could open them again he felt his glasses being pulled off his face and lips jamming hard against his own. Snape kissed him roughly at first, then more passionately, tasting his lips while pressing himself harder against him. The Slytherin's frame, both larger and stronger than the Gryffindor's, left the latter feeling quite powerless. Harry's heart began to pound excitedly, his hands flew to the man's body, one gripping into his back, the other knotting itself in his hair. As his hands touched him and pulled him in tighter, Snape gave a soft groan and Harry felt a hardness pressing into his leg.

As they embraced, the chilled marble of the tomb cut like an ice-cold blade into Harry's back, reminding him of his past, of his duty, of propriety, but that only made him feel more rebellious and horny. His green eyes flamed hungrily as he moved his hand around the front of Severus's robes, seeking his erection.

He felt the man shudder and half collapse on him when he did. Breaking off the kiss, Snape pushed himself away. His eyes, dilated and blazing blue were piercing Harry so intensely the Gryffindor felt he would surely burn.

"Here?" Snape whispered incredulously.

Harry gave a wolfish smile. "Why not? Scared of ghosts?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "No! There're no ghosts here, anyway."

"But what about the ghosts in your head..? Are you going to let them keep ruling your life?" Harry breathed, grabbing for his glasses and shoving them back on his nose. "Because I sure as hell don't want them to rule mine!"

Harry watched the Slytherin's eyes darken. "Then your duty is to ensure that they do not," he said strangely.

Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And how would I go about doing that?"

There was a heavy pause, and Severus looked down. "By promising you'll not leave me," He replied finally, in a whisper. "That is, if you decide my soul isn't too dark and damaged for you..."

The Gryffindor's heart broke at these words. Snape had said them so neutrally, like he did not care one way or the other, but Harry sensed he did, and deeply. After all, the man had lost his closest friend, his mother, and he had seen in the pensieve memories just how much that had devastated him. He had never given his regard lightly, and likely never would.

Harry choked down his own grief for people he'd loved and lost, and reached for the Slytherin's hands. They were rough and calloused, and cold from the broom ride. He interlaced the man's fingers with his own, then looked intently up into his face.

"I promise." He said.

Severus said nothing, but his expression told all. He curled his fingers around Harry's own.

"As for your soul being dark and damaged..." Harry continued softly. "Luna Lovegood told me once that she believed that a soul's brightness equals the strength of the being who owns it. Well...I've seen yours and it hardly looked damaged to me; it was the strongest, whitest spark I have ever seen..."

Snape stared at him with raised eyebrows. "You have got to be kidding me," he choked.

"It's true, I swear!" The younger man affirmed, smiling widely now. "It was like a bright, small, perfect star. It was quite beautiful, actually..."

Snape managed a withering look. "Cease the delicate descriptions Potter, or I may vomit."

"Well I will...But only if you kiss me again like you just did..."

Harry saw the Slytherin's eyes rove and glint, a white light such as that reflecting off of the melting lake. "You enjoyed that, didn't you? Being forced down over an object...?" He murmured thoughtfully. "Maybe I should..."

Harry felt the steady heat of arousal stoking his insides. "Should what?"

Snape quirked his lips. "Should be returning to the Hospital Wing; If I stress this leg out any more today I fear Pomfrey will castrate me..."

Harry felt his cheeks flush and his ears burn. "Oh..."

"Disappointed?"

"Of course I am!" Complained Harry, feeling a rush of annoyance at the self-satisfied smirk that was now spreading unchecked over the Slytherin's face. "You git!" He added hotly.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Terrifying words," he remarked coolly, brushing off the death-glare Harry was now throwing at him. "Faced as I am with the choice of facing the dogmatic wrath of that Mediwitch, or the pouting of The Boy Who Lived...it's clear I made the correct decision. Now-" Snape raised a hand and summoned his broomstick. "Are you coming back or are you going to mope in the forest with the Centaurs?"

Grumbling to himself, Harry got onto the back of the broom. "I still think your leg's a lame excuse...no pun intended."

Snape rolled his eyes as he pushed the broomstick into the air. "Don't give up your day job..."

* * *

A/N: More story only the way...! Thanks so very kindly for all reviews great and small. please leave a comment or a word if you're visiting. :) ~Ravens~


	29. Gryffindors in Opposition

**Chapter 29 - Gryffindors in Opposition**

It was looking to be a glorious Winter day. The two men glided down from the cloudless blue sky, and dismounted the broom at the top of the castle steps, which were at this point bathed in morning sunshine. The younger wizard, his expression more peaceful than it had been by the lake, offered the elder his shoulder to lean on, and the elder, with a slight flush to his face, accepted it without comment. When they reached the great doors, the elder wizard faltered in his step, causing the younger to lurch to a stop and look round, a worried crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"Are you okay?" He asked him, his face now illuminated in the sunlight.

The elder wizard looked back at him through heavy-lidded eyes. There was a pause as the two men stilled, searching each other's faces.

Severus looked at Harry, who had now raised a hand to shade his eyes from the bright sun; and saw a young man who had suffered beyond his years, but indomitably, whose compassion the Dark Lord had mistaken for weakness. Compassion may be a burden at times, he thought, but it was also a great strength. If he ever attained an ounce of what this young man had, he would be the wiser.

"Yes...thank you," He murmured, watching as the crease between the Gryffindor's eyebrows softened, in surprise as much as relief. _But of course he's surprised_, he realised, _Severus Snape never inclined to thank him for anything._

He wondered then if he could ever grow to prefer affecting Potter's mood in a positive way, to make him smile instead of frown. The thought of him smiling stirred up ghosts, old guilt that made him feel like retreating back into himself...his nerves drew taut, mere cotton thread on a knife's edge as he recalled how he had betrayed the last pair of green eyes that used to smile at him...

But what of fate? He challenged himself. Potter had seen all his most regrettable memories, knew, and had forgiven, wanted him regardless, called it fate... Severus didn't know what to think of that, but...

He raised his free arm and grasped Harry's shoulder. The look in Harry's eyes deepened, and Severus felt a flame go over him. The hand Harry was using to shield his eyes reached forward and touched his face, almost shyly.

"You're welcome," He smiled.

Their lips met again, not forcefully as before, but hesitantly, and then after a moment, more passionately and deeply. Harry leaned his shoulders back against the massive oaken doors of the castle, his eyelids dropping in pleasure. Severus saw his look, and again, was flattered that he had had such an effect, and that the boy did not mind...nay..._liked it, wanted it_. It filled something cavernous in his soul. It struck up new levels of ache and longing from his young body...and also, also long forgotten hope from where he once had been young and hopeful himself, before everything in his life had gone to shit.

Fate. A second chance...

The castle steps were highly visible and public, the risk of being discovered by an unwitting staff member or even pupil would have normally deterred him, but, this was not a normal situation... The horny broom ride had him yearning for more contact, so he pressed his body against the Gryffindor's once again. Harry responded to him with a low, guttural sound in his throat. Severus' heart begin to beat faster...

There was an abrupt clunk, a jolt, and the massive oak door swang inward, taking the two embracing men falling back with it. Harry stumbled, and with one hand caught behind his back, Severus had nowhere else to fall but on top of him, striking his sore leg on the stones as he did so.

There was a collective gasp from within. Severus froze and looked up.

They were sprawled just inside the great doors, in a large, long patch of low morning sunlight which stretched like a spearhead over the chequerboard tiles, almost to the foot of the great marble staircase. Dust motes twirled effortlessly in the haze, and Severus had to squint a bit to make out the outlines of people standing beyond in the shadows.

Whispers began to echo and hiss around the hall. It was at this moment then that the Slytherin wished he'd still had his long hair to hide behind, because the kids in the hallway were ones he'd taught as first and second years, (Although they did not know who he was, of course...) They were now fourteen and all most definitely would view this situation, and put two and two together to make...four.

Impatient footsteps sounded close by. "What on earth...?!" Cried a tight-lipped Scottish tone.

Ears burning, Snape turned to his right and grimaced as he made out the buckles of Professor McGonagall's dragonhide boots glinting in the sun next to him.

"Er, Professor..." Harry stammered. Extricating himself from under him, the young man sprang to his feet, and brushed himself down awkwardly.

Swallowing what was probably a full cauldron of pride, Severus then allowed a red-faced Harry to assist him to his feet. Once up, he stood taller than the Headmistress, a few inches more than his old body had, and he could look slightly down at her, but that did not make her pale, furious expression any easier to bear.

And there was embarrassment too. Severus had spent long enough as her colleague to notice the body language.

McGonagall turned swiftly on her heel then, and clapped her hands. "Now, students, go to your classes, away with you! You too, Mr Stephens, _quickly!"_

McGonagall shooed the straggling students out of the hallway with a few more brusque words. The kids turned toward the dungeons, still whispering to each other. Snape got a closer look at their faces, they were a mix of Gryffindor or Slytherin fourth years and had probably all been on their way to double Potions for their first lesson of the day...

"So..." The Headmistress announced stiffly. "As you can probably deduce, I've a few words I'd like to say, and the hallway is not the most prudent of places to be saying them."

"Not the Head-"

McGonagall's look sliced into him. "Yes Mr Pucey, my office!"

Severus scowled. Summoned to her office like some delinquent student was deeply humiliating. Of course Minerva would be angry...He had been her colleague...Potter had been her student...recently left school...A Gryffindor no less...There were two decades between them... Also...she was one of Potter's mentors; he did not need to win her approval, but somehow, he felt he did.

Making this kind of an exhibition in front of students was hardly a good start, however...

He raised a hand and summoned his broom from outside, before soberly casting a spell to close the great door. The glorious shaft of sunlight narrowed to a bar, then a chink, then was banished from the hallway altogether with a clunk of iron bolts.

On the way out of the hall, he caught sight of the two House ghosts, standing motionless, swords lowered and expressions agog. The only movement was their heads, following his and Harry's progress across the hall with wide eyes.

So; blatant homosexual encounters are guaranteed to stall feuding ghosts, _how useful to know..._ He thought ironically.

He hovered behind the two Gryffindors on broomstick, to save his aching leg, and before long found himself – reluctantly – being helped up the spiral staircase into Dumble- _Minerva's_ Office.

As he passed through the door, his eyes rested heavily on the great desk. Though he had sat at this desk once himself, it had never seemed like his, he had never wanted it. This was probably another reason why Dumbledore had trusted him.

He heard the portrait above the desk snoring lightly, then waken. A surge of grief and pain flared within, so he kept his gaze firmly on the desk.

"Why Harry, and Severus my boy, it is good to see you both."

Snape felt himself quiver with a myriad of emotions, and tried his best not to let any of them show on his face. He felt he had nothing more to say to Dumbledore, not that he could put into words at this moment, anyway.

Next to him, Harry muttered something under his breath. The man had been uncharacteristically quiet up to now, he stole a look sideways and saw the Gryffindor wore a troubled expression.

"Albus, I am glad you are here," Said the Headmistress curtly. "For I am drawing to my wits' end with this pair of shameless upstarts; I've half a mind to dismiss them both from the castle this very afternoon!"

A splutter of surprise came from a portrait immediately behind them. "Dismiss your favourite Gryffindor, McGonagall?" exclaimed Phineas Nigellus reedily. "Are you under the Imperious? Feeling quite sane?"

"I am perfectly sane, Phineas!" Snapped the Headmistress. "Though the less can be said of these...two..."

Snape saw Harry's body visibly stiffen next to him. "But we've done nothing wrong!" His voice rang out, hurt, defiant.

There was a tense silence. Snape felt his ears burning with embarrassment again, he still did not trust himself to speak.

Then the lightest hum of amusement came from the portrait above the desk.

"My opinion...if it is still deemed to matter...is that you have not, Harry..." Mused Dumbledore. "Scottish Muggle law has certainly not been broken, and Wizarding laws finally managed to catch up around a decade ago, so the Daily Prophet reluctantly reported at the time. Hogwarts' rules, being the age you both are, also do not apply in this situation. Of course the, how shall we say, taboo surrounding former student and professor relations is regrettably...unavoidable, but as ex-professor and ex-pupil...it is your will, not others wills, that should guide you here."

During the speech, Snape's gaze had shot from the desk straight to Dumbledore, incredulous, stunned. The old white wizard's portrait looked back at him, eyebrow raised in challenge. Of course the man's portrait already knew everything, as ever...Hogwarts had a complex network of portraits...eyes everywhere, _and they all gossiped_...

He glanced then at Harry, who had set his jaw and was trying to calm himself as best he could, his eyes still defiantly locked on his former Head of House. Finally Snape dared himself to look at Minerva.

Her face was flushed red, her mouth a dangerously thin line. She whipped round to glare at the portrait who had contradicted her.

"But in front of students, Albus, in front of a shocked hall full of fourteen year old greatly impressionable Gryffindors and Slytherins!" She cried. "How can you possibly defend such irresponsible behaviour in a school?!"

The portrait tsked. "Come come Minerva, these are old-fashioned views! You full well know that most students nowadays are not easily shocked, and are aware of many things from a surprisingly young age, though it was not so much the case in our youth..."

"How subjective, Dumbledore," drawled Phineas Nigellus. "In my time as Headmaster I recall encountering more than my fair share of abundantly knowledgeable young people who appeared to know very well how to-"

"That's enough, Phineas, if you don't mind!" Cut in McGonagall sharply. Easing herself into her chair, she shook her head in disbelief. "I invited Mr Potter here in the belief that he would assist me with Inter-House relations...and this is the outcome!"

Dumbledore let out a low chuckle. "But my dear Minerva, I sense he has helped...! Just not in the...ah.. way you intended. If you ask me, Hogwarts' needs a few more people kissing with wild abandon in the corridors, not less...!"

Eyes twinkling with something that looked suspiciously like triumph, the old, former Headmaster shifted back in the painted chair he was resting in and picked up the open book on his lap, allowing the cover of it to be viewed clearly by everyone in the room.

McGonagall turned beet red. Snape knew his face had likely taken on all the gormlessness of a goldfish, but he didn't seem to be able to gather the mental faculties to do anything else but stare incredulously at his old employer's portrait. He felt Harry place a hand on his arm. He looked round to see Potter smiling almost shyly at him.

"Let's get out of here," He said.

Just before they reached the door, the Headmistress spoke again.

"Severus," McGonagall said, in a wounded voice that had the Slytherin's insides twisting. "Do not forget that Potter was your student..."

Snape saw Harry turn a few shades paler beside him and gritted his teeth. She had been angry with him for upsetting Potter, now she was angry with him for giving in to him..._He clearly could not win!_

"Was, Minerva. _Was_." Repeated Snape coolly.

He snapped the door shut behind them.

They descended the spiral staircase in silence, Harry leading the way. Snape's thoughts were a maelstrom...ever since Potter had come on to him in the corridor he'd felt as if he had never learned Occlumency. The only other thing he'd felt to rival this intensity of emotion was his love for Lily...but then that had been more obsessive, for she had never returned his affections, he had never known anything quite like this... The impregnable walls he had built up to protect himself following his friend's death had been smashed down by her son with nothing more than a simple kiss.

His mind was a maelstrom...but for this moment...or rather for that unforgettable moment down by the lake, he would most certainly tolerate it.

Once they reached the corridor, Harry turned back to look at him, an expression of amused disbelief on his face.

"_The Penguin Book of Gay Short Stories_?! Did you see the picture on the-"

"Yes Potter, I saw it; I'm not blind."


	30. The Olive Branch

**Chapter 30** – **The Olive Branch**

Snape managed to suffer another few days being fussed and bossed by Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, just for the sake of a limp-free leg. He spent a lot of time in thought, and felt his restlessness growing with each hour and day, though as was habitual for him and emotions, he made effort to repress and control them more often than not. Every morning he had a visitor; Harry would stay with him for several hours, always smiling softly as he sat down by the bedside, his eyes still flickering with that emerald fire, every look hinting back to that dark, unspoken knowledge that had been shared between them out on the frozen lakeside. Snape felt a buzz and a yearning that he could not put into words, an animalistic desire to grab and press himself onto the young man again like he did that afternoon..._and go further..._

_Damn his youthful body...!_ His mind, by contrast saw it more maturely; he had been awakened, piqued, extraordinarily piqued, but his mind wanted time and control...wanted things more slowly at a sensible, grown-up pace...

_Sensible grown-up pace_...he grit his teeth at his words; old fashioned, at odds with his emotions. But then...he was a bloody student and a teacher rolled into one, obviously he'd be bloody conflicted every step of the way... It had similarly taken him some time to realise that he had been preferring to refer to Potter as Harry in his head for at least the past few days, though the leap had not been quite as difficult as he'd imagined: the Gryffindor had matured in the years since he had last taught him it was almost possible to imagine this was not the same boy he'd taught and accused of acting like his father so many times...

He had to, somehow, placate Minerva, convince her he wasn't out to hurt her students, or corrupt the school with wanton public displays of gayness... Damn her prejudices. It would require more than an olive branch to achieve this.

_More than a branch... Indeed. _ A shiver of realisation went through him as his eyes trailed towards the arched window, to the skies.

That final evening in the ward he put weight on his leg for the first time in days. His leg responded with stiffness at the knee, aching in the thigh like an old sprain, but mercifully little more than that. He took a few paces, then walked up and down the room, finding it easier with each step, inwardly grateful that Hogwarts' Mediwitch was so formidable, and had never been afraid to boss him about, as child nor adult.

_Speak of the devil..._

"Oh, how wonderful, there's hardly a limp there at all!" Smiled Pomfrey approvingly, stepping out of her office right at that moment.

"Could have been worse," Agreed Snape, stopping back by the bed to pick up his wand and transfigure his robes.

"Hopefully there will not ever be a next time, Severus, but if so... you will look after yourself a little more promptly next time, won't you?"

Snape's mouth twisted in annoyance. "Yes Poppy."

As he made his way up to the Headmistress's office, he found himself casting cleaning charms, double-checking his robes, straightening his cuffs and buttons, and repeatedly examining his boots, making sure they were shiny and dirt-free. But he wasn't apprehensive..._of course not._

As he spoke the password, he sent out a silent plea to whatever deity that might currently be listening that Minerva McGonagall was in one of her more tractable moods...

* * *

Minerva had had a tiring and relatively uneventful day, with only one student to see and reprimand for behaviour. Albus had been absent from his frame since the previous evening, and for that she was silently glad. All his quiet reticence and secrecy about his sexuality in life had been flipped completely on its head of late and she had grown utterly sick and tired of listening about wizarding gay rights, if only for the way it pressed at her guilt at the awkwardness she felt about those things. She'd even considered muting the portrait at one point, but then of course she knew she'd have to endure even more of Dippet's rambling and Phineas Nigellus' snide remarks...

"Oddly quiet in here today, McGonagall," smirked Nigellus, as if reading her thoughts. "Perhaps the students are too busy fornicating in the corridors at Albus' recommendation?"

"If you've nothing constructive to say, Phineas, perhaps you should take a long walk out of your frame...?" Was Headmistress's crabby response.

Phineas quirked a black eyebrow; _how he loved irking Gryffindors..._

With a huff, the witch folded and cast aside the copy of the Daily Prophet, which yet again featured a photograph of Harry Potter, smirking of all things, along with a short but somewhat more salacious version of the encounter in the entrance hall, beneath the rather damning title, '_Hero Potter, a homosexual?_.' As she had predicted the news of Potter and his Slytherin 'lover' had swept the school faster than a Hungarian Horntail with its tail on fire. _And beyond._ Whoever had sold the story to the Prophet she could only imagine, but she strongly suspected it was one of the more avaricious Slytherin fourth years keen to earn themselves a few quick Galleons. Perhaps Swanley, or MacNabb...

The room's wards alerted her to someone advancing up the stairs then: Adrian Pucey.

McGonagall sat straighter in her chair, pursed her lips and after a short pause, admitted him; after three days with nay so much as a half-apology_, she hoped __the man had a damned good reason for this visit..._

Snape stepped into her office, the heels of his dragonhide boots clicking softly on the stone. McGonagall stared, at his boots first, then his robes, a smart dark green with black buttons, with a white shirt beneath, just showing at the collar and cuffs of the robe.

She had a reason for her pause; the outfit was probably the smartest thing she'd ever seen Severus Snape wear, in any guise. It made the body he was in look older and more respectable; as no doubt was his intention.

Blinking, the Headmistress moved up to his face; though he had the smooth skin of youth, dark hair free of grey, and strong jaw of a boy recently turned to man, his eyes betrayed him to her as much older than his years. He was pale and anxious, but resolute. There was also something else about him, some air she couldn't quite place...

"Severus," she said curtly.

The young man inclined his head slightly, then met her gaze again. "I am here firstly to apologise," he said, his voice barely breaking above a whisper. "And secondly, if the offer still stands, to accept Hooch's position when she retires."

McGonagall let out a small cry, which she saw made the Slytherin stiffen and look away, suddenly self-conscious, his gaze momentarily flickering up toward the empty portrait frame behind the desk.

"You're surprised, evidently," he scowled.

"Why...yes, Severus, I am," the Headmistress replied. "A genuine apology is a decidedly rare thing these days!"

His mouth twisted still further. "From me it is."

McGonagall couldn't help the quirk of her lips. "That may, unfortunately, be true. I am delighted you wish to teach again, by the way, it is a positive sign. I shall speak to Rolanda on the morrow about it."

She saw her former colleague's face relax a little, then he looked down and began to fidget with the buttons on one of his cuffs, something she had not seen him do since he was a student. Despite being in Adrain Pucey's tall frame, there was a definite air of vulnerability about him now that had not been present for many years. Vulnerability, and...

"Is there anything else you wish to say?" She prompted.

Snape's fingers paused on the buttons and he flushed slightly. "To ask, rather."

McGonagall raised her eyebrow. "To ask what?"

"To ask you to trust me," he replied, his blue eyes looking up to meet hers, and narrowing.

"Do you not think I trust you already?" She felt pained.

"It is evident you do not."

She saw a flash of hurt in the blue. And understood. Minerva looked away and let out a weary sigh. "Och...Harry."

After days of Albus' allusions, she had to confess she was weary hearing about the subject. Though she still wasn't comfortable with it, she had to concede the two men were not breaking any rules...save that of social propriety in public places...

"I do not intend to hurt your precious Gryffindor, Minerva." Snape's voice was tight and low, forced through a clenched jaw. "If anything I would be far from this situation now if not for his..._forwardness._ However, water under the bridge, as they say..."

She looked at him, standing there clenching and unclenching his fists, his entire body thrumming with barely restrained emotion, and words failed her.

_What of Lily Potter?_ She thought to herself. Lily who came to harm from his actions... What if this was Severus's unhealthy obsession with her selfishly extending to her son? True, Severus was a changed man in many ways, a repentant man, but transfer to a younger body had done his self-control no favours at all. _Did Harry even realise how unnervingly intense and possessive this man in front of her still was?_

She reached for her handkerchief to dab at her eyes, and give herself an excuse to shield herself from the man's glower.

"It seems that silence does indeed speak volumes," hissed the Slytherin finally, between clenched teeth. He turned smartly on his heel.

And then Minerva remembered she'd had something else to discuss...the remembrance of which hit her with dread.

"Wait please Severus; a letter arrived from the Ministry yesterday. You will need to read it."

He froze. "What about?"

By the tone of his voice, Minerva sensed he had already guessed, but she had to voice it anyway. She cast a privacy charm about them, shielding their words from the portraits' ears. "It was from the Administrative Offices, enquiring as to whether I knew of the existence of any last Will and Testament of..." She faltered. "Of Severus Snape."

Snape span back round on his heels, his robes rippling. "What?! How is this?"

Minerva opened her desk draw and drew out the letter, unfolding it with a grave expression on her face. "According to an extension of the Probate law act of 1973, any witch or wizard who is classified by medical officials to be so gravely injured as to still be in a coma, or otherwise severely non compos mentis, after a period of more than or equal to twenty months, shall be subject to the Probate law-"

Snape approached her desk and had thrust his arm at her, "Let me see that."

The Slytherin took the parchment and read the rest of the letter, cursing under his breath.

Minerva gestured toward a chair, and he sat heavily in it.

"Any witch or wizard considered to still be in a non-responsive, vegetative state after this time can be considered for funereal arrangements - if no immediate next of kin can be found to declare otherwise._ Blasted Ministry and their fucking...ministrations...!"_

"Language Severus..."

"To hell on a Harpy about language!," Spat Snape, "The bloody Ministry want to bury me!"

Minerva looked on, distinctly sobered. "Do you know if you have a copy of your Will anywhere in the castle?"

"In there _-somewhere-"_ He gave a sharp gesture toward a section of smooth oak panelling, behind which lay a comprehensive office filing system. His mouth twisted, "Dumbledore took the initiative to file a copy of it in with my contract a few years ago. As you can imagine neither of us were feeling joyously optimistic about seeing the war out alive..."

With several gestures of her wand, the Headmistress made a giant filing cabinet drawer spring out a surprising distance from the seamless oak panelling, and a large dangerously overstuffed folder labelled Professor S. T. Snape, complete with a small mound of scrolls were delivered promptly onto her desk.

"A conspicuously large folder for an employee who has only just reached their fortieth birthday," she remarked wryly, extracting the Will scroll from inside its thin silvery tube.

Severus threw her a dark look, but didn't respond.

Propping her glasses on the end of her nose, McGonagall unfurled the scroll. After not more than a few seconds of reading, her eyebrows shot up and her eyes locked onto a sentence in shock. She reread it, she then looked up at the date; one year previous to the Battle of Hogwarts. Little less than a month before Albus's death.

There was a heavy silence in the room. Minerva wasn't quite sure she could dare to look up, especially not at Severus's eyes. Instead she refocused on the parchment, and read the first few lines again -

_Having no close living relations I, Severus Tobias Snape bequeath my spellbooks and all personal effects located within my personal offices and storerooms to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I also bequeath to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the entirety of the spellbook collection to be found on the ground floor of my property located at 31 Spinner's End, Cokeworth, West Yorks. I bequeath to Harry James Potter my property located at the aforementioned 31 Spinner's End, and all other personal effects contained within the property."_

Her gaze stilled on the last sentence, and finally dared herself to look up. "Why...Severus?" Why leave Mr. Potter your house...?"

There were a few moments of silence.

"If you were not aware, Minerva," began Snape softly, "the Evanses lived thereabouts, just in the next street infact, before they moved above the chemists. The place has practically gone to ruin now. If anybody in the Wizarding World could view the area with any significance, however, it'd be their grandson. Furthermore, there happens to be a stack of correspondence between Lily and myself hidden away in a box in the loft of that house. Had I died long before Harry Potter had the chance to vanquish the Dark Lord...I wanted him to know...everything about his mother."

Severus was looking her right in the eye, a flash of defiance, some fleeting emotion... Minerva felt a little guilt that she had ever doubted him, even in his time as Headmaster. It was clear that even prior to the war, Severus had come to respect Harry Potter.

"Well... If that is the case then I should think he will be happy to receive all, Severus," replied McGonagall

The Slytherin's eyes narrowed. "If you've failed to notice, I'm not quite dead yet, Minerva," he muttered acidly. "And at this point I'd very much rather the man not see the letters, if at all possible. It is too much..."

She watched him rest his forehead wearily in his hands, then. McGonagall clasped her own hands together and sighed. "Och, I see. Well, perhaps you could request of Harry that he sign everything over to Mr Pucey?"

"How very Gryffindor of you, Minerva," responded Snape in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Additionally how very suspicious-looking; surely the less red tape and Ministry officials we have sniffing around here the better?"

"Well, have you a better, more Slytherinesque idea?" She snorted.

"Not yet..." He muttered back. "But I shall have to think of something..._Preferably before my body's funeral..._"


	31. The Truth Will Out

**Chapter 31 – The Truth Will Out**

Ron had concluded he would never ever, _ever_ forget that particular morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

It wasn't so much the announcement that his old school friend was gay, (though that had been a big surprise in itself) it was who the newspaper claimed him to be snogging that was the problem.

The moment he'd put two and two together, Ron had started, swore, and dropped his mouth-destined triangle of toast butter-side down onto the carpet.

Hermione had looked up crossly. "Merlin's sakes Ron, it's your turn to do a cleaning charm on that! Honestly, I'd have thought you'd've stopped being surprised about the Cannons losing by now..."

"It's not the Cannons Mione!" He'd spluttered, snatching the paper up and thrusting it at her in exasperation. "Look!"

Hermione glanced at the paper and rolled her eyes. "We know Harry's gay Ron, it was only a matter of time before the Prophet got hold of the gossip-"

"No...Not that bit – this!" Ron interjected, jabbing his finger at the paper.

_...encounter with a tall dark Slytherin, rumoured to be Adrian Pucey..._

Hermione pursed her lips. "Oh." She said.

"It's got to be a bloody mistake," ranted her fiancée, "Harry should have a go at suing them for libel or something-"

"Ron-"

"-I mean, that's bloody Snape that is – it's gross, I know Harry wouldn't go near him with a shitty stick!"

"_Ron-"_

"-Whoever sold that to the papers should get hexed into next week, if I find them I swear-"

"RON!"

"_What?!_"

Hermione took a steadying breath. "It's...it's not libel."

Ron squinted. "Pardon?"

"It's not libel; it's true, I think. Well, the Harry and Snape bit, I should think the encounter is a bit embellished though..."

Ron gripped the edge of the breakfast bar for support. "Hermione...what are you saying?"

The young witch licked her lips nervously. "Harry told me he and Snape were...had a fling. Harry fancies Snape and I think-"

"Hang on a sec...Harry FANCIES Snape?"

Hermione's gaze had darted around the room then, anywhere but at Ron's reddening face. She gave a small sigh. "Yes. And I've got increasing suspicion it might be mutual."

_No_; Ron would most certainly not forget that edition of the Prophet in a hurry.

* * *

On the other side of London, Harry had groaned as he saw the front page of the morning's Prophet smirking back at him under its mercilessly unequivocal headline. _Sodding papers._ Whether it was a good day to be outed or not...well...it wasn't as if he could do a thing about it now.

He had decided at that point it probably would be best not mentioning it to Snape during his morning visit, unless he'd seen the paper and mentioned it first, of course. Fortunately he had not mentioned it, and for that Harry was secretly grateful. The past few mornings had been the most peaceful hours he had ever spent with Severus Snape in his life, but he wasn't such an optimist to expect that the peace he had would last...

It did not. The afternoon brought curious stares from various witches and wizards he passed, then, when he'd got back home, a pale-faced Hermione, a sullen doorstep-kicking Ron, and a copy of the offending newspaper tossed flippantly onto his dining table.

Ron, predictably, had been a tad emotional. No doubt also that Ginny, or at very least Arthur and Molly had already read the article, though perhaps they might still be assuming it to be untrue, that their honorary son was batting for another team AND seeing a Slytherin to boot might seem too far-fetched. Harry had pleaded with Ron and Ginny not to tell them; he hadn't been too sure whether he could deal with the rest of the Weasley family at this point. Tackling an upset Ron had been enough...

"You French-kissed the git? In front of a load of students?" The red-headed Gryffindor had asked, looking more than a little sickened. "Tell me that's not true?!"

"It's not true." Reassured Harry. At his friend's look of relief he'd added, "Well I mean the bit about the students isn't. _There was definitely French-kissing going on outside..._"

Harry had sworn he'd seen the corner of Hermione's mouth twitch upwards after he'd said that.

"Ron...I...haven't forgotten the past, I know who he was, and he's changed."

"He's not changed mate, he's using you 'cause he fancied your mother. He's getting off on that, he doesn't care for you one bit!"

"Ron!" Hermione scowled.

Ron turned defiant eyes on his fiancée. "I know you've been thinking it too 'mione, why else would Snape do anything like this?"

There was a nasty silence. Harry dragged a hand through his hair.

"Harry-" Hermione began. "Don't take Ron's words to-"

Harry held up his hand. "It's okay Hermione, I know what he's saying, I was kind of scared of that too, way back in my mind... But then he – he told me he had the same fear. He was feeling guilty."

"I told you!" Ron's eyes shone in triumph. "The greasy old-"

Harry struck the bar with his fist, hard enough to make the crockery clatter. "Enough!"

Ron flinched, the embittered words dying on his lips. His dark-haired friend's face lost its storm, then flashed with momentary guilt. He hung his head.

"I want to hope there's more to this than...my mother..." said Harry wistfully. "Can't you just let me have five minutes of something like peace, to have a little bit of hope? I went from thinking I loved Ginny, to getting all these other feelings about blokes that were ten times stronger and after that, after that I doubted everything." He gave a bitter sigh. "Don't get me wrong, I love Ginny, but...I don't..not in that way..."

"Plenty more...blokes... in the sea though," muttered Ron. "Why him? Why did you have to..."

Harry gave a helpless shrug. "I can't say. I just...care..."

"_Oh Hell! To choose love by another's eyes_," whispered Hermione.

"What?"

"It's Shakespeare, Harry."

"Ah."

"It means 'what hell to have your love life determined by someone else," she explained patiently to the young wizards. "And I think, Ron, that our opinions – and prejudices - are just that. It's none of our business what Harry wants to do, is it?"

Ron scowled, but finally managed a grudging, "I suppose not."

So that was Harry's afternoon. After that, he'd felt decidedly shaken by Ron's words, and in need of some reassurance. His thoughts sprang to Hogwart's, Dumbledore's portrait coming to his defence. If there was anyone who had known Snape as an adult so personally, it was that man. And that man seemed okay with his choice.

Of course there were misgivings...Dumbledore wasn't flawless, he'd played on people's weaknesses, played them like pawns in his chess game. However, after all was done, he had allowed himself to be taken, leaving himself, Harry, his closest friends, and Snape, still on the board.

Above all, however, was his own judgement. Did he trust Snape actions now? He searched his thoughts through the rest of the afternoon, and into the evening, and after all things repeatedly were stripped back to the bare fibre only one answer remained.

The very late evening found him loitering at the top of the dungeon stairwell, staring into its greenish, decidedly serpentine throat. As ever, the flickering torches led Harry downward though the corridors, to what he had chosen. As a teenager, his heart used to sink with every step downwards, now it was swooping with excitement, pattering with silent tension.

The faintest of candlelight was spilling from beneath the door. He knocked, feeling decidedly bolder than the last time he'd stood in this same spot.

After a moment, the door cracked open and one wary, sea-blue eye came into view. "Rather late for a social visit, is it not, Mister Gryffindor?"

The corner of Harry's mouth upturned. "Late for who? I'm certainly not tired."

Snape's one visible eye narrowed. "My wards did not detect your approach; you must have used charms to obliterate the sound of your footsteps."

"Did I ever tell you the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin?"

Snape's eyebrow rose in surprise. Then lowered. "Did I ever tell you the hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw?"

"Oh really? Not Gryffindor?" Harry's smile had turned faintly mischievous.

The door opened wider. "Are you suggesting, Mister Potter, that I am rash, insufferable and prone to fits of self-righteousness?"

Harry stepped forward, over the threshold. "Nope...that's just me," he said, leaning in to kiss the Slytherin.

Just before they touched lips, however, Snape brought both hands up and stopped him. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Snape saw a look of uncertainty and fear flash in Harry's eyes and looked away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

"What?" Whispered the Gryffindor.

Snape's lips twisted in indiscernible emotion. "It's...been a rather...eventful day..."

"Care to share?"

The Slytherin coloured, it looked as if he was about to say something disparaging, but had then caught himself. "Not...not at the moment," he replied evasively. "Tomorrow. After..."

"After what?" Harry prompted, almost desperate for the man to turn back and meet his eyes.

Then he did.

"After...I finish with you..." he finished softly, eyes glittering.

* * *

Severus admittedly was at a quandary regarding his body. On the one hand it was his body, his previous corporeal self for almost forty years of his life... On the other it was a scarred, blemished frame, less energetic than the one he'd now found himself in, and branded with the Dark Mark.

Still...it was _his_ body.

He could, potentially, have it exhumed following the funeral but... He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, nose wrinkling in distaste. What was he, a necromancer? What business had he exactly with it now...?

That and Harry would be disgusted. Only Death Eaters fooled around with the dead.

_Since when did he care about what Harry thought?_

_Since when had the boy...man become Harry?_

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Mister Potter..._Mister Blasted Potter._

There was no denying it though; he _liked_ Mister Potter, and increasingly. Every time the whelp arrived to see him now he'd felt electric tingle through his veins and a flush of heat rising through his body. The young man was beginning to symbolise new life and hope for him, and he was increasingly giving in to the pleasantness of it.

Would this have happened to him in his old body? The scary thing was that he was beginning to forget how that had used to feel, he wasn't even sure if his attraction to men was recent, or whether there had always been some undercurrent...

He frowned slightly as he recalled Lucius Malfoy, and how he'd secretly held him in some quiet awe back when he was a scrawny teenager. There was no denying the white-blond teen had been eye-catching – not to say attractive or striking - to him since his early teens, that his words had captured him. Was that innocent awe,_ what else would it have been?_

A sharp rap at the door disrupted his disquiet. None of his wards had chimed to alert him..._what the deuce?_

Wand in fist, he rose from his armchair and went to the door, one peek into the sneak-glass revealed Harry Potter's head looming just on the other side of it.

He opened the door, just enough. Potter gave a genuine smile. _Pleased to be in the dungeons indeed...Black would be twisting in his grave if he were buried in one..._

"Rather late for a social visit, is it not, Mister Gryffindor?"

He watched the corners of Harry's mouth quirk upwards. "Late for who? I'm certainly not tired."

Snape felt suspicious, curious, he wasn't sure which. "My wards did not detect your approach; you must have used charms to obliterate the sound of your footsteps."

"Did I ever tell you the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin?" The Gryffindor returned coolly.

Snape found the fact did not surprise him as much as the Gryffindor's cool admission of it. "Did I ever tell you the hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw?" He returned, allowing a hint of amusement into his voice.

"Oh really? Not Gryffindor?" It was said in mock surprise, but Snape tried his best to disregard the mischievous twinkle that had appeared in the young man's eyes as he'd said it. _He would not allow himself to be piqued by teasing alone..._

Even so, he felt the slow, unmistakable heat of excitement beginning to build. He opened the door a little more. "Are you suggesting, Mister Potter, that I am rash, insufferable and prone to fits of self-righteousness?"

Harry stepped forward, over the threshold. "Nope...that's just me," he said cheekily.

Snape's heart stalled as the man drew in to kiss him, and he put his hands up just in time.

He saw a look of uncertainty and fear flash in Harry's eyes and looked away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

"What?" Whispered the Gryffindor.

Snape's lips thinned as the memory of the Will and that unsavoury dilemma returned to haunt him. Then...somehow...the disconcerting thoughts about Lucius as a teenager, his confusion, fascination, all dredged up from a long-locked-in, forbidden compartment in his mind...

A visual of Lucius in the changing rooms emerging from the showers, towel slung over his shoulder, every move full of the nonchalant arrogance of the rich, entitled pure blood...and _stark bollock naked in his ice-pale skin._

"It's...been a rather...eventful day..." He managed to put out, hoping by Salazar the guilty flush wasn't too obvious on his face, (and that Harry had not noticed anything damning going on down in his trouser area...)

Harry's expression grew almost doe-eyed with concern. "Care to share?"

"Not...not at the moment," he replied evasively, becoming only too aware of the rising heat caused by the Gryffindor's proximity - his knowledge that he'd already seen this man bollock naked also - and the way the thought of it was fast obliterating all sensible, practical thought. _That could wait til..._ "Tomorrow. After..."

"After what?" Harry prompted, looking a bit confused.

Snape heard his heart hammering in his chest. "After...I finish with you..."


End file.
